


The Light of Things Hoped For

by GeekofKhaos



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Self-Harm, Sex, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-03-23 04:32:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 46,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13779768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeekofKhaos/pseuds/GeekofKhaos
Summary: Dipper, now eighteen, inherits the Mystery Shack, after a freak boating accident claimed the lives of both Grunkles. While spending the summer by himself at the Shack, he struggles with grief and mental illness, and ends up finding comfort in an unexpected ally. Just when he begins to make progress, he finds a note left behind for him from his Grunkle Ford, containing a warning.





	1. Chapter 1

The setting sun cast a soft glow on the tops of the pine trees, elongating their shadows slowly, which made it appear that the forest was growing, and reaching out to claim the youth sitting morosely on the roof of the derelict wooden building.

Dipper Pines sat with his legs dangling off the side of his old familiar summer haunt, feeling utterly defeated. He had first begun spending summers at the Mystery Shack in Gravity Falls with his twin sister Mabel when he was twelve years old. His Great Uncles, Stan and Ford, who owned the Mystery Shack, had “retired” to travel the world in a boat after that first summer, leaving former handyman Soos Ramirez to manage the business on their behalf while they were gone. They’d always managed to make it back every summer, however, to visit with the twins.

Until now.

Dipper and Mabel were completing their senior year of high school, and the afternoon they found out, they had just arrived home after a grueling day of final exams. Both twins were excited to spend one last summer with their Grunkles in Gravity Falls before they parted ways for university. However, it wasn’t meant to be. Their parents met them at the door that day, which was unusual, because both parents worked, and usually weren’t home until a few hours after the twins.

Their Grunkles had been in a boating accident. The Stan o’ War had sunk off the coast of Mexico. No bodies were recovered.

Mabel had collapsed instantly, screaming and sobbing. Their father had to physically pick her up and carry her into the house. Dipper had been silent. Instead of having an explosive outburst like his sister, he quietly imploded. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, but he really didn’t care. His mother reached out to hug him, but he didn’t seem to even see her. He blindly trudged upstairs to his bedroom, tossing his bookbag down, and going to get in the shower. The water was running for a long time, which concerned his parents, so his father went into the bathroom to check on him, while his mother attempted to console Mabel.

Mr. Pines had found Dipper, fully clothed, sitting on the floor of the bathtub, teeth chattering, as icy water cascaded over him.

In the warm light of the fading summer sun, Dipper shivered. He still felt like he was drenched in icy water.

There was a memorial service held in Gravity Falls that the twins were unable to attend, due to their final exam schedules. Soos had sent them a video recording of the memorial, which Mabel had watched, while weeping and hugging her pet pig, Waddles. Dipper couldn’t bring himself to watch it.

On the day of their graduation, Dipper received a registered letter in the mail, from a lawyer in Gravity Falls. The reading of Stan and Ford’s wills had taken place, and, to Dipper’s surprise, they had left the Mystery Shack and all its contents to him.

His parents insisted he at least go spend one last summer at the Shack, as had been the plan to begin with, before deciding if he wanted to keep it, or sell the property. Dipper had agreed to go, reluctantly, but Mabel flat-out refused to go with him. Through her tears, she told her brother that she couldn’t imagine Gravity Falls without her Grunkles there, so she didn’t want to go back. She wanted her last memories from Gravity Falls and the Mystery Shack to be with them.

Which is what led to Dipper, one week later, sitting by himself, staring at the sunset from the roof of the run-down building.

The sun finally sank below the tree-line, creating a sepia-toned dusk. Dipper sighed, and got to his feet. He had never felt so utterly alone. He opened the hatch on the roof, and climbed down the ladder, into the darkness of the gift shop.

Without turning on any lights, he traced his familiar path through the shop, and into the main house. He didn’t know what to do with himself. He stared at Grunkle Stan’s old overstuffed chair facing the tv. He’d sat there countless times before, but now it somehow felt off limits.

Dipper finally decided to just go to sleep. He’d only arrived that afternoon, in his beat-up old Volkswagen. He was tired after the long drive. At least, that’s what he told himself, as he climbed up the stairs to the attic, and opened the door to the barren room that he usually personalized with Mabel every summer.

He kicked off his shoes, and doffed his jeans and t-shirt, climbing between the musty sheets in only his boxers and socks.

The last thing he saw before drifting off to sleep, was softly glowing triangle against the wall, cast by the dying light of the evening that filtered through the attic window.

/

Dipper awoke with a start. His heart was pounding, and he was covered in a sheen of cold sweat, but he wasn’t sure why. If he’d had a nightmare, he didn’t remember it. Airy, early morning sunlight was creeping through the window, not yet bright enough that it would have woken him up. As Dipper sat up in bed, the creak of his old mattress echoed loudly in the empty attic.

Dipper sighed. “Might as well get up,” he muttered to himself. He leaned down grab his duffel bag, and pulled it up onto the bed. He stared at the bag for a moment, forgetting what he meant to grab from it. He ran his hands through his hair, frustrated.

“Oh yeah,” he said, as he felt the greasy texture of his hair. “Shower.” He grabbed his bottle of shampoo and a towel from the bag, and made his way to the bathroom.

As he opened the door, a wave of grief washed over him. Folded neatly over the towel bar were the matching towels that Mabel had embroidered for their Grunkles just two years ago. Hearts and rainbows surrounded their bold, cursive proclamation of the names of their owners, who would never again return to use them.

Dipper choked back a sob, and then laughed wetly at himself. “They’re fucking towels. Pull yourself together, dumbass.”

He turned the shower on, then pulled off his socks and boxers, climbing into the old claw-footed tub, and drawing the shower curtain around himself. He stood in the spray, listening to the familiar clank and groan of old pipes, and let the warm water run over him. He squirted a dollop of shampoo into his hand, massaged it into his scalp, and scrubbed the rest of his body with it as well. He made a mental note to pick up some soap when he went to the store to stock up on essentials later.

And it hit him again—the grief that kept popping up at the stupidest little things. He was thinking about what food items he’d need to buy, and what kinds of food Stan and Ford liked… But he wouldn’t need to buy for them. Not ever again.

Dipper sank down to the floor of the bathtub, as sobs shook his body. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. He imagined how scary their deaths must have been, unable to maneuver the boat in a sudden squall, and realizing they were going down. Sinking slowly into the dark, thrashing sea. Dipper wished he could have traded places with them. He didn’t want to exist in a world that no longer included his Grunkles.

“No,” Dipper told himself. He gripped his hair and yanked—not hard enough to pull it out, but hard enough to cause pain, followed by a warm tingling sensation in his scalp. He was angry at himself for being selfish. Mabel still needed him. Well, he thought she had. But she refused to come back to Gravity Falls with him when he needed her the most. She had plenty of friends…Dipper being gone would be nothing more than a blip on her radar.

Dipper clenched his eyes shut so tightly that a kaleidoscope of colors burst behind his eyelids. “STOP IT!” he screamed, gripping the edge of the tub tightly as he tried to empty his mind, and resist the overwhelming urge to slam his head into the white porcelain. He tried to take slow breaths, and focus on the water hitting his skin, the sensation of it running down his chest and dripping off the tip of his nose.

The water had turned icy before Dipper finally had the sense to turn it off. Shivering violently, he pulled himself to his feet, and climbed out of the tub. He grabbed his towel off the counter, carefully avoiding looking at the embroidered towels hanging on the towel bar. With his back to them, he quickly dried his hair, enough so that it at least stopped dripping, and rubbed the freezing droplets of water off the rest of his body, tossing the towel in a heap by the bathroom door. There was no point in wrapping himself in it. There was no one else around.

He opened the door, noting the creaking hinges, and thinking he should pick up some WD-40 while he was out. He stepped forward to walk across the hall to his bedroom, when he was met with a pair of wide blue eyes, framed with blonde bangs. He stopped, and stood completely still, like a deer in headlights.

“Oh my God, Dipper, I didn’t mean to—Oh my God!” cried Pacifica Northwest, as she turned and ran down the stairs.

Dipper blinked, almost not comprehending what had just happened. Pacifica. Pacifica was in the Mystery Shack. Why was Pacifica in the Mystery Shack? Dipper glanced down at himself.

“Great, not only did she see me naked,” he muttered, as he entered his bedroom, “but right after I stepped out of an ice-cold shower.” He sighed. It’s not like it mattered what she thought of his body anyway. She was completely out of his league, and often went out of her way to remind him of that during his summer visits to Gravity Falls. She was semi-friendly with Mabel, but barely even spared a “hello” for Dipper. So why was she _here_?

Dipper quickly dressed, his curiosity piqued. He was too emotionally numb to waste energy being embarrassed about being seen cold and naked.

He ran his fingers quickly through his damp curls, as he headed down the stairs. He hoped Pacifica had not run off completely. While she was definitely not his favorite person in the world, talking to her might help keep his mind occupied and distracted from the more self-destructive tendencies that he’d been struggling with, for at least a little bit.

“Pacifica?” he called, as he reached the bottom of the staircase. “You still here?”

“Yeah,” called a small voice from the living room.

Dipper almost screamed at her when he rounded the corner and saw that she was sitting in Stan’s chair. Instead, he swallowed hard, and attempted a smile.

“Wh-what are you doing here?” he asked, mentally kicking himself as his old stammer reappeared.

Pacifica made eye contact with him briefly, then looked away, her cheeks crimson. She was more than embarrassed enough for the both of them.

“Mabel and I text from time to time… just sort of…keep in touch,” said Pacifica, who appeared to be addressing the floor. Dipper crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, waiting for her to continue.

“She said you came here by yourself, and she was worried about you,” mumbled Pacifica. “She wanted me to come check on you. Told me where the spare key was hidden, in case you didn’t answer when I knocked.”

“I was in the shower,” said Dipper.

“Yes, I’m aware of that now,” said Pacifica, her face now the color of a ripe tomato.

Dipper wasn’t sure how to keep the conversation going. That had always been Mabel’s forte.

“So…” he trailed off, and shrugged.

“I don’t really come out here anymore,” said Pacifica, finally looking up and meeting Dipper’s eyes. “Where are Soos and Melody? I thought they were running the Mystery Shack.”

Dipper shook his head. “After…my Grunkles…” he closed his eyes and swallowed, before continuing. “Soos and Melody had spent a lot of time caring for his Abuelita a couple years ago, before she passed away. Now that…well, Soos decided now would be a good time to move to Portland with Melody and go to nursing school. Said he felt really fulfilled taking care of his Abuelita, and wanted to care for other people and make them happy and comfortable like he did with her.”

“Oh,” said Pacifica quietly. “So you’re—it’s just you here?”

Dipper nodded. “They left it to me.” He glanced around him. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do, yet.”

“Do?” asked Pacifica, her eyebrows raised.

“I mean… keep it, or sell it,” said Dipper.

“You’d actually consider selling the Mystery Shack?” asked Pacifica, genuinely surprised. “I thought you loved it here.”

Dipper smiled sadly. “I loved the people here. Now it’s just me.”

A strange look crossed Pacifica’s face, as stood up from Stan’s chair and embraced Dipper tightly. He patted her back awkwardly. Pacifica let go and looked up at him, and Dipper was surprised to see her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“I have to go now, because I have yoga class,” said Pacifica, “but if it’s okay with you I’ll stop by again sometime soon.”

For the first time during their encounter Dipper finally noticed what Pacifica was wearing—black yoga pants and a purple tank top, her hair up in a ponytail. She looked nice.

He waved a hand at her, with a self-deprecating smile. “It’s okay, Pacifica. Your duty to Mabel is done. You can tell her you checked on me and I haven’t burnt the place down or anything.” _I’m not worth your time, anyway_ , he wanted to add.

Pacifica looked slightly hurt, as she turned and walked toward the door. “Okay, then… bye Dipper.”

“Bye,” he said, as he walked behind her and shut the door.

Dipper watched Pacifica walk toward her car through the small window in the front door. Just before she got in, she turned back toward the Mystery Shack, a look of intense sadness on her face.

Dipper felt anger boil up inside his chest. “Stupid, stupid, _stupid_ ,” he spat, banging his head against the door frame. Pacifica was probably the only person who would even bother to check up on Dipper, considering the Grunkles were gone, Soos and Melody had moved, Wendy was halfway across the state taking summer classes at her university, and Mabel refused to visit. Pacifica was the only person that might care enough to stop by from time to time—and he had just brushed her off.

Dipper bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted copper. It was probably for the best. He didn’t want Pacifica’s pity. But it sure would have been nice to have a friend.


	2. Chapter 2

Dipper’s stomach growled. It occurred to him that he hadn’t eaten anything since lunch yesterday. He wandered into the kitchen, trying to ignore how loud his footfall sounded, when there were no other sounds of life to be heard in the Mystery Shack.

He opened the fridge door, not expecting to find anything. His expectations were met. Soos and Melody had cleaned the fridge and freezer thoroughly before moving out. He met with a little more luck when he opened the cabinets. They had left behind a few unopened canned or boxed goods that weren’t set to expire for awhile. Unfortunately, Dipper was not in the mood for creamed corn or chicken flavored stuffing for breakfast.

Sighing, he grabbed the notepad and pencil kept next to the fridge, and began to write a shopping list. He knew he had to go into town eventually, so it might as well be now. He hoped he didn’t run into anyone he knew from his previous summer visits. If one more person told Dipper how “sorry for his loss” they were, he might snap. He hated those words. They didn’t _mean_ anything. They didn’t _do_ anything. The only purpose they served was to give the person speaking them a pat on the back, and the feeling of “there, I helped the person grieving feel better!” No, you fucking didn’t.

Dipper finished scribbling his list, and left the Mystery Shack, driving to the nearest grocery store. It wasn’t a mega-mart, so he probably wouldn’t be able to get the WD-40 here, but a smaller store meant less chance to run into familiar faces.

Dipper wandered the aisles of the store haphazardly, having to go down several of them twice because of the order of the items on his list. It was just his luck that he had chosen that one grocery cart with the wobbly wheel that squeaks and is difficult to steer. Shoppers in the aisles near him kept looking up to see what the source of the awful, repetitive squealing noise was. Dipper hunched his shoulders and looked straight ahead, hurrying to get what he needed and get out. Finally satisfied with the small pile of items in the bottom of his cart, he checked out, and pushed the cart outside to his car.

Just as he finished loading the last bag of groceries into his trunk, he heard footsteps approach behind him. He hoped they would pass him, but they stopped.

“Hey again, Dipper!”

Dipper turned around. “Hey yourself, Paz. You stalking me or something?”

Pacifica scoffed. “You wish. No, I was just getting out of yoga class—the studio I go to is right across the street,” she said, indicating with her thumb behind her.

“Oh,” said Dipper. He shifted from foot to foot awkwardly.

“Hey, since you’re out and about anyway, wanna come grab breakfast with me at Greasy’s?” asked Pacifica brightly. “My treat!”

“What, did all your other friends move away?” Dipper asked, trying to make a joke. He immediately regretted it.

“No—I… I’m just trying to be nice, Pines,” she said quietly.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean… gah,” said Dipper, putting a hand to his forehead. “Look, I appreciate the offer, Pacifica—but I have frozens I have to get home and put away.”

Pacifica arched an eyebrow, and stood on her toes to peer over Dipper’s shoulder, into his trunk.

Dipper reached back and slammed the trunk shut quickly, embarrassed at the amount of cheap, frozen microwaveable meals he’d purchased.

Pacifica rocked back on her heels, her arms folded over her chest.

“Alright, Dipper,” she said with a sigh. “Guess I’ll see you whenever, then.”

Dipper nodded. “Later Paz.”

The whole way back to the Mystery Shack, Dipper berated himself for his social ineptitude. It really _would_ be nice to have a least one person to spend time with occasionally this summer. Pacifica had reached out to him twice already, and both times he had pushed her away.

“I’m such a moron,” Dipper mumbled angrily, as he pulled into the Mystery Shack parking lot.

/

Dipper was able to carry all his groceries in in one load, because he had bought so few. A box of cereal, a half-gallon jug of milk, bread, a jar of peanut butter, and a dozen small frozen meals that had cost less than a dollar each. He knew his mom would give him grief about not buying any “real food,” but she wasn’t here, and he didn’t feel like cooking.

In fact, by the time he finished putting the groceries away, he didn’t feel like eating at all, anymore. He ran his hands through his hair, trying to figure out what to do with his time. He hadn’t done a proper walkthrough of the Mystery Shack when he arrived yesterday, so he decided to do one now.

He started down the hallway, then stopped, looking at the picture frames hanging on the wall. They were all empty. These frames normally held pictures of the twins and their Grunkles, taken at the end of each summer visit. Dipper bit his lip. Stan and Ford must have brought the pictures with them on the boat. He wondered if they took them after every summer. It had probably been Stan that did it—he was the more sentimental of the two, even though he would deny it vehemently.

“Shit,” said Dipper, wiping at his suddenly leaky eyes. “Can’t even make it two fucking feet down the hall.”

He hated himself for being so weak. He should be able to hold it together long enough to do a simple walkthrough of the Shack, but clearly he couldn’t. A bubble of tension and anger began to build up in his chest. He couldn’t keep breaking down like this. He needed to just accept that they were gone, and get over it. He leaned against the wall, clenching his eyes shut, and pressing his forehead against the cool wood. The tension in his chest was becoming unbearable, so he did the only thing he knew helped release it. Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself back from the wall, and then punched it as hard as he could.

“ _FUCK_!” he screamed. The tears leaking from his eyes were from pain now instead of grief, and as he focused on the throbbing of his hand, the tension in his chest receded.

Dipper was glad he’d punched with his left hand rather than his right, because he thought he might have broken a couple of knuckles. They were already swollen and purple. The wall was lined with solid wood paneling, which was a good deal harder than plain drywall. If it had been drywall, he probably would have punched through, breaking the wall, not himself.

The tension in Dipper’s chest was replaced with a hollow feeling as he gingerly tried making a fist with his left hand. He hissed with pain. Yeah, he was pretty sure he’d broken at least two knuckles. He felt like an idiot, as he thought about how disappointed in him his family would be if they knew that his coping mechanism was to hurt himself. He couldn’t go to the hospital and get his hand looked at, because then his parents’ insurance would be billed, and they’d want to know how he’d gotten injured in such a way. No. Better to just deal with the pain, and hope the knuckles healed okay on their own.

Dipper took a deep breath, and blew it out. “No walkthrough today, Pines,” he muttered.

He decided, instead, to grab his sketchbook and earbuds. He’d gotten into art in the past couple years. It was one of the few activities where he could empty his mind, listen to music, and just focus on the task at hand. It was his form of meditation. He decided the roof would be a good place to go to draw—at least he already knew there was nothing up there that would cause him to once again be overwhelmed with grief.

With difficulty, Dipper maneuvered himself up the ladder to the roof, grasping his sketchbook between his teeth, and wincing in pain when he attempted to grip the rungs with his left hand. When he finally got himself situated on the roof, his left hand was throbbing, sharp pains shooting like lightning through the broken knuckles. He shook his head. He was an idiot for doing it to himself, so he welcomed the pain. He deserved it.

/

Dipper was so involved in the drawing he was working on, that he didn’t realize how late it had gotten, until his phone beeped a warning that it only had fifteen percent battery life left. He looked at the phone’s clock and raised his eyebrows. How was it already seven in the evening?

The pain in his left hand had settled down to a steady, dull throb, but as Dipper had to use both hands to climb down the ladder, the pain quickly ramped back up until it felt like his knuckles were being stabbed with a hot knife.

As he stepped off the ladder, Dipper suddenly felt lightheaded. He wobbled, and almost fell over, but caught himself on a display shelf holding Mystery Shack snow globes. It was then that it occurred to Dipper that he hadn’t eaten anything all day. He made his way to the kitchen, and opened the freezer. He stared at his frozen meals, the frosty air seeping out around him. He shut the freezer without selecting a meal. Microwaving a frozen tv dinner felt like too much effort. Instead he grabbed the jar of peanut butter he’d bought, and a spoon, then opened the fridge and grabbed the jug of milk.

Dipper sat at the table, and ate several spoonfuls of peanut butter straight from the jar, washing it down with a few swigs from the milk jug. He was zoned out, staring at the wall, when a chirp from his phone startled him. It was a text notification—the first one he’d gotten since arriving at the Mystery Shack. It was from Wendy.

**Hey dork, how you doing?**

Remembering that his phone’s battery was almost dead, Dipper found his charger, and plugged it into an outlet in the kitchen wall. He scooted his chair closer to the wall so he could use the phone while it was charging. He stared at the screen, trying to decide whether to text back, or just call her. He decided to call—he really needed to hear another human voice after the day he’d had.

Wendy picked up after the first ring. “Hey! There’s my little dweeb!”

“Hey Wendy,” said Dipper, trying to sound more chipper than he felt.

“How’re you doing, buddy?” she asked gently.

“I’m okay,” lied Dipper. “Just getting settled at the Mystery Shack. I got in last night.”

“Did you ever convince Mabel to come with you?” asked Wendy. She knew he was lying about being okay.

Dipper sighed. “Nope. It’s just me here.”

“That really sucks, man,” said Wendy. She paused for a moment, before asking “Do you need me to come stay with you?”

Dipper desperately wanted to say yes. After his embarrassing crush on Wendy during his first summer in Gravity Falls, they had become closer, just in a platonic way. She was like a big sister to him. He loved her in the same way he loved Mabel. She gave him dating advice, and had consoled him after he broke up with his first high school girlfriend. She gave the best bear-hugs, having learned at the knee of Manly Dan Corduroy. He could really use one of those hugs right about now.

But saying yes would be selfish. Wendy was taking three summer classes, because she was trying to graduate college early. He didn’t want to mess that up for her.

“No, it’s okay, Wen. You’ve got your classes and everything. I’m fine, really.”

“I can tell you’re not fine, Dipper,” said Wendy sternly. “I know you. And screw the classes. I can withdraw and re-take them next semester. Just say the word and I will.”

Dipper closed his eyes. He couldn’t say yes. He knew she’d already paid the tuition for her summer classes, and it was non-refundable. That wouldn’t be fair to her, to lose all that money on account of his whiny ass. Her education was more important than him getting the world’s best hug.

Dipper took a deep breath, and tried to make himself sound somewhat upbeat. “No, really, Wendy. I’m alright. Don’t worry about me.”

Wendy was skeptical, but she didn’t want to push it. “Listen dork, if you need me, all you have to do is call or text, and I’ll be there. I’ll miss some of my classes if I have to. You’re more important than a few stupid credit hours. Promise me, okay?” she said. “Promise me if you need me there, you’ll let me know.”

Dipper closed his eyes. “I promise.”

“Good. I gotta go now, Dip. I’m supposed to head out to the movies with some people. Talk later, okay?”

“Okay, Wen. Have a good time at the movies,” said Dipper. He bit his lower lip, trying to fight off disappointment. He’d hoped to talk to her longer.

“Will do, man! Bye!” she said cheerfully.

“Bye,” said Dipper. As he ended the call, he felt the familiar hollow feeling in his chest again—the one he got when he felt like a disappointment, or failure. He’d already broken the promise he just made to Wendy. He did need her there, but her education was more important. He didn’t want Wendy having to rearrange her entire next semester just because he needed a hug.

/

A loud rap at the front door suddenly reverberated throughout the empty Mystery Shack. Dipper looked at the time and furrowed his brow. He hadn’t been expecting anyone. He got up and peered out the small window in the front door before opening it.

“Pacifica? Hi…again?”

She stood in front of him holding a pizza box. At her feet sat a bag in which there appeared to be a six-pack of Pitt Cola.

“Hey, Pines,” she said with a grin. “Sorry, I know this _does_ seem a little weird and stalkerish, but I saw all the tv dinners in your trunk this morning…those things are junk, Dipper. You can’t live off that crap.”

Dipper raised his eyebrows, and looked at the box in her hands. “Isn’t pizza also kind of…junk?”

“Touché,” said Pacifica. “Well, if anything, at least it’s better tasting junk.”

Dipper nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “This is true. I guess I can’t turn down better tasting junk. Come on in,” he said, standing aside for her to pass.

“Thanks,” she said as she passed him. “Grab that bag, will you? I brought drinks, and also a couple of movies.”

As he picked up the bag and followed her inside, Dipper felt his cheeks flush. Never, in any of his interactions with Pacifica during previous summers, had she shown any inclination toward hanging out with him. Why now? Did she pity him, or something? And then he remembered the reason she had come over earlier that morning, and it made sense. Mabel.

Pacifica sat down in Grunkle Stan’s overstuffed armchair, with the pizza box resting on her lap. Dipper sat the bag next to her, and picked up the movies to see what she’d brought.

“So,” he said, looking up at her, trying to sound nonchalant, “when you talk to Mabel, you can tell her I’m fine, and she doesn’t need to send her friends to check up on me.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Dipper internally facepalmed. It sounded a lot harsher out loud than it had in his head.

Pacifica glanced up at him and met his eyes, then looked quickly away, her cheeks red.

“I’m not here because of Mabel,” she said softly. “You—I just thought you might need a friend. I can go if you really don’t want me here.”

Great, he’d hurt her feelings. Earlier Dipper had wished he hadn’t pushed Pacifica away both times she’d been nice to him. This was probably his last chance.

“Sorry,” said Dipper. “I figured, since…” he sighed. “I’m sorry, Pacifica. Please stay.”

She looked up at him and smiled. “It’s okay, Pines. Pick a movie,” she said, nodding to the DVDs in his hand. “I don’t care which—they’re both favorites of mine.”

Dipper looked at the movies, and raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You like ‘The Fifth Element’?”

Pacifica laughed. “What’d you expect? ‘Clueless’ and ‘Legally Blonde’?”

Dipper looked up at her and grinned. “Honestly? Kind of, yeah.” He crossed the room and put in disc in the player, and then sat down on the floor in front of Stan’s chair.

“Uh, Dipper, why’re you sitting down there?” asked Pacifica, as the FBI warning popped up on the screen. “There’s plenty of room in the chair—this thing’s huge.”

“It’s Grunkle Stan’s chair,” said Dipper. “I just feel weird about sitting in it now, I guess.”

Pacifica rested a hand on Dipper’s shoulder. “C’mon, Pines. I don’t want to end up dropping pizza sauce on your head or something.”

Dipper turned and looked at her, an eyebrow raised. “I’m not even directly in front of you.”

Pacifica winked. “I’m a _very_ messy eater.”

Dipper sighed. He was uncomfortable with the idea of sitting in Stan’s chair, but he couldn’t articulate why. He shook his head, and hoisted himself up next to Pacifica. He hissed in pain as he used both hands to push himself off the floor, temporarily forgetting what he’d done to his left hand.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, his eyes watering as the stabbing pains shot through his knuckles again.

Pacifica looked at the hand he was favoring, and her eyes widened. “Dipper, what happened? That looks awful!”

Dipper’s ears reddened, and the hollow feeling returned to his chest. “I got hurt,” he said simply.

Pacifica narrowed her eyes at him. “Yes, I see that. How?”

“I…fell,” said Dipper, feeling like an idiot.

“You fell directly onto your fist?” Pacifica asked, wryly. “Right.”

“I’d rather not talk about it,” said Dipper, beginning to shut down. He stared straight ahead, although his eyes weren’t focused on the tv.

Pacifica sighed. “Here, eat some pizza,” she said, setting the box on his lap. She got up and left the room.

Dipper’s eyes burned as he took a bite of pizza, and chewed it without really tasting it.

A few minutes later, Pacifica returned, and plopped back down next to Dipper, thrusting something in his face.

“What…?” he asked, taking the object from her. She’d filled a plastic baggie with ice, and wrapped a dish towel around it.

“You didn’t even think to ice it, did you?” asked Pacifica.

Dipper shook his head in the negative, once again feeling like a moron.

Pacifica took the pizza box back from Dipper, and grabbed a slice, before setting the box down on the floor. She settled back into her seat, and turned her attention to the movie, so Dipper did the same.

About midway through the movie, Dipper shifted in his seat to get more comfortable, and suddenly got a strong whiff of the old man cologne Grunkle Stan always used to wear. The smell had soaked into the cushions.

The sudden assault on his sense of smell blindsided Dipper, and a small sob escaped him. Embarrassed, he tried to play it off as a cough.

Pacifica could tell the difference. As she glanced at him, he turned his face away—but not before she saw the tears streaming down his cheeks. She didn’t know what had caused him to suddenly break down, but the fact that he was trying to hide it from her made her decide to leave it alone. She was there if he felt like talking.

Dipper sniffled intermittently through the rest of the movie, until near the end. When the closing credits began to roll, Pacifica turned to him to ask if he wanted to watch the other movie she’d brought. She cut herself off before speaking, however, when she realized he was curled up, fast asleep, against the arm of the chair. Even asleep, tears slowly leaked out of the corner of his closed eyes. Pacifica had to resist the urge to wipe them away. She didn’t want to wake him up.

She stood up quietly, and found a blanket, which she gently draped over the sleeping teen. Then she put the leftover pizza and soda in the fridge. She quickly jotted down a note on the kitchen notepad, and left it out on the table.

Before leaving the Mystery Shack, she turned and looked at Dipper.

“You’re not alone in this,” she whispered softly. “Goodnight, Dipper.”


	3. Chapter 3

_Thunder reverberated off the rolling ocean, as lightning crackled, violently illuminating the night sky every few seconds. The strobe effect from the lightning caused the scene before him to resemble poorly executed stop-motion animation. The boat pitched to and fro, waves breaching the sides, and rushing over the deck, while rain pounded from above. He grabbed the railing, desperately clinging for all he was worth. It couldn’t end like this—not after everything he’d gone through._

_He pulled himself along the railing, until he reached the storage bench where the life-jackets were stowed. Just as he grabbed one, an enormous wave washed up and over the deck, knocking him into the icy water._

_The world went topsy-turvy, and he couldn’t tell up from down beneath the roiling, black depths. He kicked his legs fiercely, and pulled himself through the water, desperate to reach the surface. His lungs were burning. Everything began to feel fuzzy, as the darkness outside of him seeped within. He felt himself slipping away. He wasn’t ready to go._

Dipper woke up screaming and thrashing. He was tangled up in something, and it was pitch dark. He fought to break free, and rolled off what he’d been laying on, landing with a thud on something hard.

Finally, he was able to kick free of the blanket wrapped around his legs. His body was wracked with sobs, and he couldn’t catch his breath. He felt like he was going to be sick. He curled into the fetal position on the living room rug, and cried until he was hoarse. Finally, although tears still seeped steadily from his eyes, his wails quieted, turning into deep, shuddering breaths.

The dream seemed entirely too real. Dipper could still taste brine, and felt as if he should be coughing up sea water. While he had had similar nightmares ever since his Grunkles went down with the Stan O’ War, usually they involved Dipper seeing his Grunkles on the boat, screaming to him for help, and Dipper having to watch from afar as the boat sank with them still aboard. This was the first time he’d dreamt from the perspective of someone on the boat. To say it was unnerving would be an understatement. He didn’t want to go back to sleep, for fear of slipping back into the same nightmare.

Dipper knew where he was now—the living room. He’d been laying on the overstuffed armchair, and had rolled off onto the floor when he woke up in a panic. He must have fallen asleep while watching the movie with Pacifica. Where was she?

Dipper sat up and squinted at the digital clock on the DVD player, wiping the tears from his eyes so he could focus on the glowing green numbers. Half past three in the morning. That explained why Pacifica was gone. He didn’t remember covering up with a blanket, so he supposed that must have been her doing, as well.

Using his right hand to steady himself on Grunkle Stan’s chair, Dipper stood shakily. His left hand was throbbing, which reminded him of the bag of ice Pacifica had made him put on it. He picked the dishcloth-covered bag of water up off the floor where it had fallen, and stumbled through the dark to the kitchen. He turned on the light, and made his way to the sink, where he emptied the water, before he refilled the bag with ice. He wrapped the dishcloth around it, and sat down at the table, letting it rest on his hand.

Dipper grabbed his phone from where it was still charging, and unplugged it. He really needed someone to talk to after that dream. He wished Pacifica hadn’t left—although it would have been ridiculous to ask her to spend the night. This was the first time they’d ever hung out, and Dipper still wasn’t sure why she was even bothering. It wasn’t like she was lacking for friends. Still, he was going to try not to push her away. He had to admit to himself that having her with him had at least helped curb any self-destructive tendencies, which might have had arisen when he smelled his Grunkle Stan’s cologne emanating from the chair’s upholstery. He couldn’t focus on the tension building up in his chest while at the same time trying to hide his tears from Pacifica.

Dipper opened the contacts list in his phone, and sighed. Nobody would want his lame ass waking them up at almost four in the morning because he’d had a bad dream. He sat the phone aside, and ran his right hand though his hair. That’s when he noticed the note that Pacifica had left on the table.

Dipper,

Sorry to leave without saying bye, but you were out cold! I put the leftover pizza and soda in the fridge for you. I had fun tonight. Let’s hang out again soon, okay? Oh, and call or text me whenever you want to talk.

Love,

Paz

  


She’d scribbled her phone number at the bottom of the paper.

Dipper raised his eyebrows. He really wasn’t sure what to think of Pacifica Northwest. Although no longer the awful bitch she’d been when he and Mabel met her their first summer in Gravity Falls, she’d always been aloof with him, at best. Now she was bringing him food, watching movies with him, and leaving him notes signed “Love, Paz.”

Dipper scowled, and shook his head. He couldn’t let himself start getting ideas. Pacifica felt bad that his Grunkles had passed away, and that he was staying at the Mystery Shack by himself. She was just being nice. Doing a good deed. That didn’t mean she was interested in him. In fact, the second summer he and Mabel visited Gravity Falls, after he’d gotten over his crush on Wendy, he’d developed a little crush on Paz. Mabel found out, and of course she spilled the beans. Pacifica had confronted Dipper and told him she wasn’t “into dorks.” And that was that. He had been put in his place. He may have gotten taller, and put on enough muscle that his legs and arms no longer resembled noodles, but he was still very much a dork.

Dipper yawned, and looked at the clock. He did not feel well-rested, but the nightmare he’d just had was enough to make him never want to sleep again. Not sure what to do with himself, he grabbed his sketchbook and earbuds, and sat back down at the kitchen table. It was still dark outside, but even if it hadn’t been, Dipper didn’t think he'd be going up on the roof for awhile. Climbing the ladder had been entirely too painful with his left hand in the state it was in. All because he was a moron and couldn’t properly handle grief like a normal person.

Trying to curb this train of thought, Dipper plugged his earbuds into his phone, and selected a playlist of calming piano music. Then he opened his sketchbook to a blank page, and began absently drawing, with no particular image in mind.

/

Dipper had gone through eight pages of his sketchbook before nine o’clock in the morning. The sharp, cheerful sunlight of a cloudless day shone through the kitchen window, warming his face, and making his eyes water. He stood up with the intention of pulling down the window shade, but stopped in his tracks when he heard the crunch of gravel around the front of the house. He turned and walked to the door, and peered out the little window at the top to see who was pulling up to the Mystery Shack.

It was Pacifica. Dipper smiled to himself. Her note _had_ said she wanted to hang out again soon. He just hadn’t expected it to be quite this soon. She was full of surprises.

Pacifica climbed out of her car, wearing jean shorts and a blue tank top, her long blonde hair tied up in a messy bun. Just as she arrived at the front door, and reached out to knock, Dipper opened it.

“Mornin’ sunshine,” he said lackadaisically, leaning against the door frame.

“Oh!” said Pacifica, jumping back in surprise. She blushed, and held up a hand, waggling her fingers at him. “Morning Dipper.”

He stared at her silently for a moment. Finally he rubbed the back of his neck, smiled shyly, and said quietly “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this fine morning?”

Pacifica laughed. “You’re such a dork, Pines!” She looked him up and down and realized he was still wearing the same thing he’d had on yesterday. “Go freshen up and change clothes. I’m getting you out of the house today.”

“Oh?” asked Dipper. “Is that so?”

Pacifica nodded. “Yessir, it is. Now get a wiggle on, mister.”

Dipper chuckled. “Now who’s the dork, Northwest?”

“Still you!” said Pacifica, grinning up at him. She reached out and poked him in the ribs. “Go!”

Dipper gave her a mock salute, and turned to make his way up to his attic bedroom, while Pacifica waited for him in the living room.

He quickly stripped, and made a face as he got a whiff of armpit. He poked his head out his bedroom door, and called to Pacifica downstairs.

“Hey, Paz, I need to grab quick shower. I’ll just be a couple of minutes!”

He grabbed a clean towel, and wrapped it around his waist before crossing the hallway to the bathroom. He didn’t want a repeat of yesterday morning. Unless Pacifica was naked, too, in which case—

Dipper shook his head. _Woah, buddy_ he chided himself, _she’s just being nice to you. That doesn’t mean she wants to get naked with you, all hot and slick and soapy…_ Dipper gritted his teeth. If he didn’t stop this line of thinking, the shower might take more than just a couple minutes.

He went to hang his towel up on the towel bar, forgetting that his Grunkles’ towels were still hanging on it. As he saw them, a wave of guilt washed over him, almost as powerful as the wave that had knocked him out of the boat in his nightmare. He bit the inside of his lower lip until he tasted blood. He’d been living in his dead Grunkles’ home for less than two full days, and he was already forgetting about them, thinking instead about the pretty blonde downstairs, who was only hanging out with him out of a sense of pity.

Dipper felt a bubble of anger, guilt and tension rise in his chest and stick in his throat. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears. Pacifica was downstairs waiting on him. He didn’t have time for this breaking down bullshit. He took a deep breath, and made as tight of a fist as he could with his left hand. He felt bone shift, and his vision went black for a second. The pain in his knuckles, which had faded to a consistent dull throb, was now back in full force—sharp, and ragged, and raw.

Dipper dropped his hand to his side, and took a shuddering breath, staring into the mirror above the sink. He almost didn’t recognize himself in the angry teen glowering back at him. His eyes were bloodshot, accented with dark circles underneath. His face looked slightly gaunt, and his dark brown hair was badly in need of a trim.

“Yeah, loser. Pacifica _totally_ wants to jump your bones,” he mumbled sarcastically to himself.

/

“I thought you said you’d only be a couple minutes,” said Pacifica with a grin, as Dipper trudged down the stairs in a clean black t-shirt and jeans, his hair still damp. Her grin wavered when he locked eyes with her. It looked like he had been crying.

Dipper tried to force his lips into a smile, as he said “Well, washing, and getting dried and dressed with only one hand is a little trickier than I thought it would be.”

Pacifica glanced down at his left hand, and gasped. “Dipper, what the hell?! It looks even worse than yesterday!” The dark purple bruising had spread, and the top of hand was swollen to nearly twice its normal size.

Dipper shrugged, his face stony. “I guess I must have rolled onto it in my sleep.”

Pacifica sighed. “Do you want to grab some ice for it before we go?”

“No, I’m good,” said Dipper. “It doesn’t hurt as bad as it looks.” That was because it was beginning to go numb.

/

“Hey Paz?”

“Hmm?”

“Where the hell are we going, anyway?”

They’d been on the road in Pacifica’s little coupe for five minutes before Dipper thought to ask where she was taking him.

Pacifica glanced at him sidelong. “Well, first on the agenda, is taking you to urgent care to get your hand looked at.”

Dipper stared at her, incredulous at her audacity. “Um, no we’re not,” he said.

“Dipper, you’ve clearly broken something,” said Pacifica, frustrated. “Why don’t you want to get it fixed up? Do you like, get off on pain, or something?”

Dipper’s face was hot, and he could feel his pulse jumping in his neck. “I don’t ‘get off’ on pain,” he said low.

“Then what’s keeping you from getting it looked at, huh?” asked Pacifica. “Do you not have insurance? Because I’ll pay for it. Money’s not an issue.”

Dipper turned his head to stare out the window, leaning his forehead against the cool glass. He didn’t know what to tell her. He couldn’t tell her the truth—not the whole truth, anyway. She would think he was mentally ill. Dipper nearly laughed out loud. Who was he kidding? He was mentally ill. Mentally healthy people don’t injure themselves when they can no longer tolerate their emotional pain. Finally, he spoke.

“Insurance isn’t the issue. I’m on my parents’ insurance. It’s…” Dipper paused. He didn’t want to burden Pacifica with his issues. That wasn’t fair to her. “They’ll want to know how I did it—my parents, I mean. And I don’t want to tell them, because they’d just fuss and worry about me.”

Dipper expected Pacifica to immediately ask him how he’d done it, and why his parents would worry. She surprised him, however.

“Well, then let me pay for it,” said Pacifica. “Like I said—money isn’t an issue. That way your parents will never have to know.”

“I don’t want you to have to do that, Paz,” said Dipper. His throat constricted, like he was about to cry. “It’s not your problem. I did it to myself, so I deserve to be in pain.” The last sentence poured out of Dipper’s mouth before he could stop it. He looked down at his feet, preparing to be ridiculed for being weird, or called a moron.

Pacifica was quiet for a moment, as she navigated through the narrow streets of downtown Gravity Falls. When she spoke, she surprised Dipper once again.

“I thought so,” she said quietly. “Look, I’m the last person who’d give you a hard time about something like that. I just want to get your hand fixed. Please let me.”

They’d parked in front of the urgent care building, and Pacifica turned to look at Dipper, searching his face for…something. Dipper couldn’t tell what. He was exhausted, confused, and in pain.

“Okay, Northwest,” said Dipper with a sigh. “You win. Let’s go see how badly I fucked myself up.”

Pacifica smiled, and reached out to touch Dipper’s cheek. “Thanks, Pines.”

Dipper sat in his seat for a moment, while Pacifica unbuckled and got out of the car. He could still feel the warm outline of her hand on his cheek. Why was fixing his stupid hand so important to her?

/

“A boxer’s fracture? Well, at least it sounds cool, since the cast is so weird,” said Pacifica, as she and Dipper exited the urgent care. She had been in the waiting room while Dipper was tended to.

Dipper had returned after about an hour and a half, his wrist and hand encased in a strange cast that also covered his ring and pinkie fingers, while the other fingers and thumb were exposed. His casted fingers were bent in a weird sort of “come here” crook. The fiberglass cast was covered in hunter orange wrapping.

Dipper struck a pose. “Whatever, Northwest. You know I look fabulous.”

Pacifica giggled. “They gave you painkillers, didn’t they?”

“Very strong ones,” confirmed Dipper, nodding vigorously. “They make everything kinda happy. I can see why people get addicted to this stuff.”

They climbed into Pacifica’s car, and she noticed him smiling at her.

“What?” she asked.

Dipper chuckled. “Nothin’. Thanks for getting me fixed up, Paz. You’re pretty. Nice!” Dipper added quickly. The painkillers had apparently done away with his verbal filter. “Pretty nice. Nice Pacifica.” He reached out and patted her on the top of the head.

Blushing, Pacifica turned her key in the ignition, and the engine roared to life. “So, I thought we’d go for coffee, since it’s too early for lunch. Does that sound okay to you?”

Dipper yawned. “Yes please. I need all of the caffeine. But can we get it to go?”

Pacifica looked disappointed, as she drove in the direction of the coffee shop. “Oh, do you want to take it back to the Mystery Shack?”

“Huh?” said Dipper. “No, I wanted to sit outside…in the park or something. It’s nice out.”

“Oh, okay then,” said Pacifica cheerfully.

Fifteen minutes later, to-go cups of overly sweet coffee in their hands, Dipper and Pacifica strolled aimlessly through the park. The shrieks of children playing tag, combined with the hot morning sun, began to give Dipper a headache. The caffeine was helping a little, but not enough to undo the consequences of waking up in the middle of the night and not going back to sleep. The opioids he’d been given by the doctor were adding even more drowsiness on top of his physical exhaustion.

“Can we find somewhere to sit?” mumbled Dipper sleepily. “Preferably somewhere shady?”

Pacifica glanced up at him. “You okay, Pines? You don’t look good.”

“No need to bring my looks into this, Paz,” said Dipper, cracking a small grin.

Pacifica’s face reddened. “You know what I meant, dork. And I think I remember there being a gazebo with some benches over there, in that wooded part of the park,” she said, pointing.

“That sounds perfect,” said Dipper, taking a sip of coffee.

They wandered in the direction Pacifica had pointed, and sure enough, they found an old, moss-covered gazebo sitting in the shade of the surrounding trees. Inside it there were several wooden benches and a picnic table. Dipper plunked his coffee cup on the table and sat down, slumping over and resting his head on his arms.

“What’s wrong, Dipper?” asked Pacifica, sitting down across from him.

“I didn’t get much sleep last night,” said Dipper, trying to stifle a yawn. “It’s starting to catch up with me.”

“Really?” asked Pacifica, in disbelief. “Because you were out for the count when I left after the movie was over.”

“Yeah… thanks for the blanket, by the way,” mumbled Dipper. “But I woke up at like 3:30, because I…had a bad dream,” he finished, feeling lame, but too sleepy to care at the moment.

“I’m sorry,” said Pacifica softly. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know,” said Dipper, his throat tight, and his eyes threatening to water over. He shifted his face so Pacifica wouldn’t be able to see his eyes.

Suddenly Dipper felt warm fingers running through his hair, gently scratching his scalp. A tingling sensation shot down his spine, and he groaned softly.

“Well, I’m here if you do ever feel like talking about it,” Pacifica said quietly. “And if you want to take a nap here, I’ll stay with you, okay?”

Dipper sniffled, unable to hold back the tears that had been welling up in the corners of his eyes. “’Kay.” He paused, and sighed. “Thanks, Northwest.”

Pacifica continued gently scratching his scalp, as she watched his breathing slow and become steady and even.

“Any time, Pines.”


	4. Chapter 4

Dipper blinked slowly and sat up straight, his back stiff from having been hunched over the picnic table.

“Hey there, sleepyhead,” said Pacifica, sitting to his left.

Dipper yawned, as he grabbed his cup of coffee, now cold, and took a swig, before looking at her. She grinned at him cheerfully.

“Ugh…how long was I out?” he asked, rubbing the crusties from the corners of his eyes.

“Eh, about an hour and a half, maybe?” said Pacifica. “Did you get some good rest? No nightmares?”

Dipper shook his head in the negative. “No nightmares. Sorry to keep you just sitting here for so long. You must’ve been really bored.”

“Nah,” said Pacifica, with a flap of her hand. “I just derped around the internet on my phone. It’s no big deal.”

“Well…thanks. You know…for,” he held up his casted left hand, “for this. And for staying with me while I napped. You’re being really nice.” He paused, and raised an eyebrow at her. “It’s kind of weird.”

Pacifica’s cheeks turned pink as she stood up from the picnic table.

“Well,” she said, offering Dipper a hand up, “I _do_ have a lot of past bitchiness to atone for.”

“Oh,” said Dipper quietly. And there it was, as he’d feared. She didn’t really want to be his friend. She was just trying to make herself feel better after having been a bitch in the past. He sighed. He had kind of expected this outcome, but it still left a hollow feeling in his stomach.

A shrill beeping cut through the air, and Pacifica pulled her phone out of her pocket.

“Crap,” she muttered. “I have an appointment in a half hour that I completely forgot about,” she said apologetically to Dipper. “I’m going to have to drop you back at the Mystery Shack.”

“Okay,” said Dipper, tonelessly. He dropped his empty coffee cup in a trash bin just outside of the gazebo, and stuffed his right hand in his pocket. His left hand hung uselessly at his side. Pacifica followed suit with her coffee cup, and had to walk quickly to keep up with Dipper’s long strides.

“Are you in a hurry, or something, Pines?” she said, having to match every one of his steps with two of her own. “Your legs are a lot longer than mine.”

“Huh?” he asked. He’d been lost in thought. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t want to make you late for your thingy.” He slowed down slightly so that Pacifica didn’t have to practically jog to keep up with him.

“What’s wrong?” she asked him, noticing the slight frown on his lips.

“Nothing,” said Dipper. He attempted a smile.

“Uh-huh,” said Pacifica skeptically. She knew Dipper’s normal smile, and that wasn’t it. His real smile always reached his eyes, making them crinkle up at the corners. The face he’d just made looked more like a grimace.

They reached Pacifica’s car, and got in. Dipper’s mood had changed drastically, and Pacifica wasn’t sure why. She stayed quiet, because she didn’t want to say anything that would upset him. Ten silent minutes later, they arrived back at the Mystery Shack.

Dipper unbuckled and opened his door to get out, but stopped short when he felt Pacifica’s warm hand on his thigh. He looked down at the hand with furrowed brows, and then turned back to Pacifica.

“Sorry,” she said quickly, pulling her hand back. “I really did forget all about this appointment. But I’ll come back later, okay?”

Dipper smiled sadly. “You know you really don’t have to, Paz,” he said softly. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“I—what?” asked Pacifica, confused. “But I _want_ to come back and hang out, Dipper. Really.”

Dipper shrugged. “Okay, then. See you later, I guess.” He climbed out of the car, and trudged slowly up the gravel path to the Mystery Shack.

Pacifica watched him let himself into the Shack, and drove away, confusion etched on her features.

/

Dipper shut the front door and leaned back against it, sliding down it to sit on the floor. He closed his eyes, tears pricking at the back of his eyelids. He’d been stupid to think that Pacifica had wanted any kind of genuine friendship with him. He should have remembered what her kind were like.

Dipper’s sophomore year of high school, a popular girl, Lindsay James, had actually shown interest in him. She’d ditched her friends to sit with him at lunch, and passed silly notes to him in the classes they shared. Dipper really started to develop feelings for Lindsay, and he thought she had feelings for him as well. When he finally got up the courage to ask her out, he was completely unprepared for her to burst into laughter. Apparently, Lindsay and her friends had chosen the boy they thought was the biggest loser in their grade, and were betting to see how long she had to be nice to him before he asked her out.

Dipper heard all this second-hand from Mabel, however, since he had run off, trying not to cry, as soon as Lindsay threw her head back and began to cackle at his proposal of a date. While he eventually gained confidence, and even went on to have a few short-lived high-school romances, he never forgot how badly it hurt to have someone he cared for completely betray him like that.

While Dipper didn’t think Pacifica was pretending to want to spend time with him out of malevolence, he was pretty sure the friendship she was offering him wasn’t genuine. She had said it herself, at the park. She had a lot of past bitchiness to atone for. Spending time with Dipper was just a good deed, nothing more.

Dipper sighed, and hoisted himself back up off the floor. He was frustrated with himself. Although he could see through Pacifica’s friendly façade, he still hoped she’d continue to hang out with him. It was nice to have someone to talk to, even if she was only pretending to care.

Dipper yawned, and decided he might as well try for another nap. He didn’t have anything else to do. He made his way slowly up the stairs, and once in his attic bedroom, he stripped down to his boxers and climbed between the sheets. He had almost drifted off to sleep when he was startled by his phone loudly starting to play “Don’t Start Unbelieving.”

He answered the call groggily. “Hey Mabes,”

“Hey Bro-Bro!” said Mabel cheerfully. “You weren’t still asleep, were you? You sound like you were asleep.”

Dipper yawned. “No, not asleep. Trying to, though. I didn’t sleep too well last night, so I was trying to get a nap.”

“Oh, sorry,” said Mabel. “Well, I just wanted to see how you’re doing. Why haven’t you called me?”

“Uh, well I’ve got a lot of stuff I’m trying to do around the Shack,” lied Dipper. “Besides, I figured Pacifica would have reported back in to you by now.”

“Oh…she told you I sent her over?” said Mabel sheepishly.

“Yup,” affirmed Dipper.

“Well, I mean she did tell me yesterday morning that she’d been over and you seemed…sad, but fine,” said Mabel. “But I figured you would have called me at some point between then and now.”

“So you’re saying you _didn’t_ tell her to continue keeping tabs on me?” asked Dipper.

“No, I just asked her to stop by the one time,” said Mabel. “Why? Has she been over more than once?”

“Oh, a little,” said Dipper. He was glad Mabel couldn’t see his face—he could feel the heat in his cheeks. “She’s actually being _nice_. Which of course, means I can’t help but be suspicious of her motives.”

Mabel was quiet for a moment. “Maybe she likes you!” she exclaimed suddenly, making Dipper jump.

“Wh-what? No, I highly doubt that,” stammered Dipper. “She’s just being nice.”

“Whatever, Dipstick,” said Mabel. “I’m gonna ask her.”

“What?! No! Mabel, please—do _not_ do that!” cried Dipper. “I’m already awkward enough, without you making the situation even more awkward.”

Mabel sighed. “Fine, Dip. I won’t say anything to her. But,” she said, “I expect you to keep in touch with me better, and keep me updated on your blossoming relationship with Paz.”

“Ugh, Mabel. There is no ‘blossoming relationship,’ okay?” said Dipper, exasperated. “She feels bad that I’m living here all by myself, so she’s hanging with me out of pity. That’s the extent of it.”

“You keep telling yourself that, Dippingsauce,” said Mabel. “I have a feeling you’re wrong.”

“Your feeling can go suck an egg,” said Dipper testily. “Look, I promise I’ll call or text more often, but I’m really tired, so do you mind if we hang up so I can get my nap now?”

“Fine, Mr. Grumpypants,” said Mabel, amused at her brother’s ire. “Text me later, okay?”

“Okay, Mabel. Love you, sis.”

“Love you too, Bro-Bro.”

Dipper ended the call, and sat his phone aside. He rolled over, trying to get comfortable on the lumpy old mattress.

“Mabel’s delusional,” he mumbled to himself, as he drifted off to sleep.

/  
_Darkness, cold and bleak. Water roaring past his ears. Everything a swirl of motion. His life was fading fast, he could feel it. He closed his eyes, preparing to accept the inevitable._

_A sudden sharp pain screamed in his scalp, as he was grabbed by the hair and pulled to the surface of the water. He kicked his legs, trying to remain above the water’s choppy surface, as he coughed violently, expelling copious amounts of seawater from his lungs. A life jacket was thrust in his face. He grabbed it, and fastened it around himself, allowing its buoyancy to keep him afloat, giving his tired legs a chance to rest. He spun in the water, looking for his savior._

_Stanford was bobbing helplessly amongst the waves a few feet away. Ford had saved him. Ford…Ford had given him his own life vest!_

“ _What’d you do that for, you idiot?!” he screamed, pawing at the clasps on his vest so he could take it off and give it back._

_Ford smiled sadly. “It’s my fault,” he called, over the noise of the storm. “You didn’t ask for any of this. I’m sorry.” A large whitecap washed over Ford, and he was gone._

“ _NOOOOOO!”_

/

“NOOOOOO!” Dipper screamed, as he woke up in the middle of jumping out of bed, his arms outstretched to dive underneath the waves after Ford. Instead of a mouthful of saltwater, he got a faceful of floor, his right cheekbone striking the hardwood with a crack, causing him to see stars.

Dipper curled into himself, held his right fist against his mouth, and sobbed. Like his previous nightmare, it seemed too vivid to be a dream. It felt more like a very clear memory. He had watched, helpless, as his Grunkle Ford sacrificed himself. He’d said he was sorry…that it was his fault. _What_ was Ford’s fault?

Dipper tried to calm himself by taking deep, shuddering breaths. He felt lightheaded, and his chest felt like someone was squeezing him too tightly. He slowly got on all fours, then pushed himself up, and stumbled over to his bed. He sat on the edge, holding his head in his hands. His whole body was trembling.

He needed to talk to someone. He looked at the angle of the light filtering through the attic window, then down at his phone. He had slept until eight in the evening. Where was Pacifica? She’d said she _wanted_ to come back by, but then wouldn’t she have been here by now? Her appointment couldn’t possibly have taken that long. He was right after all. She didn’t really care about him.

He blew his breath out threw his mouth, still trying to calm himself. He couldn’t call Mabel. He’d purposely avoided talking about the Grunkles or his dream with her earlier, because he didn’t want her to break down again.

Wendy, then.

He clicked on her name in his contacts list, and held the phone to his ear. It rang a few times, and then her voicemail picked up.

“You’ve got Wendy Corduroy! Leave me a message, or don’t. Whatever.”

Dipper sighed and hung up. He needed an actual person to talk to. He didn’t want to unload his feelings into Wendy’s inbox. As he ran his hand through his hair, he remembered that Pacifica had left her number on the note in the kitchen. Dipper shrugged to himself. If Pacifica really wanted to do a good deed and atone for past bitchiness, now would be the perfect time.

Dipper quickly threw on a pair of flannel pajama pants and an old t-shirt, absently wiping at the errant tears that still slipped from his eyes sporadically. He padded down the stairs barefoot, and found Pacifica’s note still sitting on the table. He sat down, and entered her number into his contacts. He stared at the screen, trying to decide whether to call or text her. He decided to text—that way if she completely blew him off he could pretend that maybe she just didn’t get his text.

**Hey Paz, it’s Dipper. I thought you were coming back over today. What gives?**

Dipper stared at the screen for a few moments, willing an answer to pop up. Just as he sighed and sat the phone on the table, it trilled. He picked it up and read her response.

**Hey Pines. I DID come over and knocked for like five whole minutes, but you didn’t answer. I thought you were mad at me or something.**

Well, shit.

**Sorry. I took another nap after I got home. I figured you’d just let yourself in like the other day.**

Pacifica’s response came quicker this time.

**Lol… you remember how well that went? You were kind of really naked.**

Dipper cringed.

**Oh, yeah. Yeah, I was. Well, I’m currently clothed and awake if you still want to come over.**

Almost immediately:

**On my way. :)**

/

Twenty minutes later, Dipper opened the door to the Mystery Shack for Pacifica, who was struggling to carry the two large paper grocery bags in her arms.

“Uh, didja do some shopping?” asked Dipper, raising his eyebrows. He leaned forward to take one of the bags and peered down inside it as he carried it to the kitchen. It was full to the brim with junk food. He laughed. “Wasn’t it you who shamed me just yesterday evening for only having junk to eat?”

Pacifica followed him in, turning to kick the door closed behind her.

“Well, yeah,” she said, “but that was junk to eat as meals. These are _clearly_ snacks.”

Dipper sat his bag on the table and turned to face Pacifica, one eyebrow arched.

“What?” she said with a shrug. “I didn’t know what kinds of movie snacks you like, so I kind of just got a bit of everything.” She handed him the second grocery bag, and then took off the backpack she was wearing, and unzipped it. She pulled out a fistful of DVDs and shoved them at Dipper. “You pick.”

/

About an hour into the first movie, neither Dipper, nor Pacifica was paying any attention to it. They lounged on opposite sides of the large overstuffed chair, a bowl of popcorn between them, talking. Their conversation was mostly lighthearted banter, until Pacifica finally brought up the subject that Dipper was both dreading, and yet hoping, to talk about—his nightmares.

“So how was your _second_ nap today?” she asked with a grin, nudging his bare foot with her own. “Hopefully nightmare free as well?”

Dipper bit his lip and looked down at his hands. Pacifica’s innocent question made him feel like he’d been punched in the gut, as it caused him to once again see Ford slip beneath the waves in his mind’s eye. He could feel his lower lip begin to quiver. He really didn’t want to break down into tears in front of Pacifica. He took a deep breath, and without looking up at her, shook his head.

“No,” he said quietly. “I had another one.”

Pacifica reached over the bowl of popcorn and grabbed Dipper’s good hand. “Same dream?” she asked softly, giving his hand a squeeze.

“Sort of…more like a continuation of my previous dream,” said Dipper, his voice beginning to shake. He looked up and met Pacifica’s worried gaze with tear-filled eyes.

“It’s okay, Dip,” said Pacifica. “You don’t have to tell me about them if it’s too upsetting for you.”

“No, I—” Dipper withdrew his hand from Pacifica’s grasp, and used the back of it to wipe away the single tear that was rolling down his cheek. His throat felt tight. “I think I _need_ to talk about them.”

“Okay, then,” said Pacifica softly. “What happened in them that upset you so badly?”

“The first dream… I’d never had a dream like it before,” said Dipper, his voice low. “I dreamt of the squall that killed my Grunkles, but in the dream _I_ was on the boat too. Or, I was dreaming from the point of view of one of them, I guess. But that’s just it—it didn’t feel like a dream. It was too real, too vivid. I was _living_ it, Paz. A huge wave knocked me over the side of the boat, and I started to sink.” Dipper took a shuddering breath before continuing. “I was going to die… everything was going black. I was drowning… and that’s when I woke up from the first dream.”

“Oh, sweetie,” said Pacifica softly. She reached back toward Dipper, but noticed him automatically shrink away from her touch, so she folded her hands in her lap.

“Then…the dream I had today seemed to pick up right where that one left off… I couldn’t breathe, I was surrounded by water and darkness. Then someone grabbed me by my hair and pulled me to the surface. I was coughing up seawater, trying to stay afloat, and the person who’d rescued me gave me a lifejacket. I put the lifejacket on, and look to see who had given it to me—it was my Grunkle Ford. And he—” Dipper choked back a sob, as his tears began to fall thick and fast, dripping down onto his lap. “He had given me his own lifejacket! I called him an idiot and tried to take it off to give it back to him, but he just looked at me, all sad…said he was sorry, that everything was his fault. And then a wave washed over him… and he was gone.”

Dipper took in a deep breath, intending to let it out slowly and calm himself, but all the air came back out in one huge sob. He couldn’t hold it in anymore. The tension in his chest was going to kill him if he did. He doubled over, and let loose the cry of anguish that had been slowly building up within him since he set foot in the empty Mystery Shack just days ago.

Silent tears slid down Pacifica’s face as she watched Dipper sob. She’d never seen anyone quite so broken before, and it was heart-wrenching. She sat the bowl of popcorn on the floor, and slid over next to him, tentatively putting her arm around his shoulders.

Pacifica expected Dipper to flinch away from her. She was surprised then, when he turned in his seat to face her, threw his arms around her tightly, and sobbed into her shoulder. She instinctively hugged him in return, rubbing his back, and lightly rocking him.

For more than fifteen minutes Dipper cried, as all the emotion he’d been bottling up inside came spilling out. Finally, he seemed to be calming. His sobs turned into deep, shaky breaths. After a few more minutes, Pacifica realized that Dipper’s breathing was deep and even, his body deadweight. He had cried himself to sleep on her shoulder.

Pacifica shifted so she could lean back against the chair. Dipper stirred, and opened his eyes blearily.

“Paz,” he murmured sleepily, his voice hoarse, “please don’t leave me tonight.”

“I won’t leave you, Dipper,” Pacifica answered him softly.

“’Kay,” he mumbled. He curled against her, snuggling his head onto her shoulder, and fell back asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Pacifica didn’t sleep much that night. She had a lot on her mind, much of it having to do with Dipper. She was worried about him, which amused her somewhat, because even a year ago, she knew she wouldn’t have given his mental state a second thought. She’d been a selfish bitch, concerned only with what others could do for her. On the surface, at least. On the inside, she’d been screaming.

She sighed, and lifted her left wrist to her face, inspecting the faint scars. They were nearly invisible—nobody ever noticed them, which suited Pacifica just fine. She hadn’t tried to kill herself, but when the roiling emotions in her chest became too much last fall, she had started using a razor to make shallow cuts along the inside of her wrist. Just enough to hurt and bleed, and distract her from the tension in her chest that threatened to swallow her whole. Her parents hadn’t noticed, which Pacifica had been fine with. They never noticed her, except when it was convenient for them. After a month, and many new cuts, one of her teachers _had_ noticed, however, and referred her to the school psychologist. Pacifica promised to get help if the psychologist refrained from contacting her parents, and he’d agreed. That’s how Pacifica came to be a patient of Dr. Vandercamp, her psychiatrist, whom she’d had an appointment with earlier in the day.

Dr. Vandercamp had diagnosed Pacifica with PTSD, which was a result of her parents’ treating her as a pet to be trained, instead of a child to be loved, for so many years. He also diagnosed her with generalized anxiety disorder, and dysthymia. He’d prescribed her an anti-depressant, as well as anti-anxiety medication. She also began seeing him on a weekly basis for cognitive behavioral therapy. The therapy and medication had worked quite well, so Pacifica, while still taking the medication, was now only seeing Dr. Vandercamp once a month instead of every week. It was he who suggested Pacifica take up yoga, as a positive way to relieve stress.

When Pacifica had first talked to Dipper in the Mystery Shack at Mabel’s behest, she’s known right away he wasn’t okay. After having been “fake happy” for so many years, she could recognize it when she saw it. Dipper was trying his best to appear fine, but she could tell he wasn’t—something about his eyes. The Dipper she remembered from summers past had always had a spark in his eyes, and an inquisitive energy about him. That was gone now. He was a shell of his former self. Now that Dipper wasn’t acting like his old self, Pacifica was coming to realize how much she had liked him. Yeah, he was a dork, but in kind of a cute way. He’d always been ready to go on an adventure, to learn something new. Now it seemed like that was all gone, and Dipper wasn’t Dipper anymore.

Pacifica stroked Dipper’s hair, smiling at the small contented noises he made. During the night, he had slowly slid down her side, until finally he was curled into the fetal position, with his head resting on her lap. He didn’t appear to be having any nightmares. Pacifica wasn’t sure if it was her presence, or just dumb luck, that caused him to not have the nightmares when he slept with her around. She didn’t really care which. She’d already made up her mind that she was going to be there for Dipper, as much as he needed her to. He kept trying to push her away, but he also seemed like he really needed a friend. She wanted to be that friend.

Around four in the morning, Pacifica finally drifted off to sleep, leaning up against the arm of the chair, with Dipper’s head still in her lap.

/

Dipper awoke with a start. His arms were wrapped around someone’s torso. He sat up quickly, and rubbed his eyes. Pacifica was curled up against the arm of the chair, still asleep.

Oh, yeah. She’d spent the night last night because…oh God. Dipper facepalmed. He had broken down and sobbed in her arms, then asked her not to leave. He was sure now that she thought he was incredibly pathetic.

But—he hadn’t had another nightmare. At the risk of sounding like even more of a pathetic loser, Dipper decided to ask Pacifica today if she would stay the night again. An experiment of sorts, to see if she kept his nightmares at bay.

Lost in thought, Dipper didn’t notice that Pacifica was stirring.

“Mornin’ sunshine.”

Dipper started, and then felt his cheeks redden in embarrassment. She was smiling at him.

“H-hey, Paz,” he mumbled.

Pacifica yawned, and stretched. “Mmmmm, what time is it?” she asked, as she sat up.

Unsure, Dipper looked at the clock on the DVD player.

“Oh!” he said. “Eleven?”

“Wow,” muttered Pacifica. “Do you mind if I do some stretches here in the living room? I feel weird if I don’t start my day with yoga.”

“Uh, sure, knock yourself out,” said Dipper with a shrug. “I’m gonna make some toast or something.”

He stood up and made his way into the kitchen, where he realized that although he’d bought bread, he hadn’t bought butter. He didn’t feel like eating peanut butter toast, and he felt like he could really use some coffee—something else he’d neglected to buy. He sighed and turned back around.

“Hey Paz—” he stopped short, unprepared for the sight of Pacifica in the downward dog pose. She was face down, ass up, giving him an eyeful as he stepped through the doorway.

“Yeah?” asked Pacifica, looking at him upside down between her legs.

“Um…” Dipper had forgotten what he was going to say. “You—you’re really flexible.”

She grinned. “Yep. Now, did you want something?”

“I…yeah,” said Dipper, trying to look at anything but Pacifica’s posterior, and failing. “I was wondering if you wanted to go get something to eat at Greasy’s. I’m not really in a toast mood.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” said Pacifica cheerfully, as she slowly transitioned into a different position by lowering her rear and resting her knees on the floor. “Just give me like ten minutes to finish up my yoga, and then five more to grab a quick shower…if it’s okay for me to use your shower?”

“Uh, yeah,” said Dipper. He was still staring.

Pacifica turned her head and smiled at him, one eyebrow raised. “This one’s called the ‘cow pose.’ Do I look like a cow?”

“What? No!” said Dipper shaking his head. He needed to take himself elsewhere. He was enjoying watching Pacifica’s show of flexibility entirely too much. “I um—shower—going,” he said stupidly, and turned quickly to head up the stairs.

“Don’t use all the hot water!” Pacifica called after him. It sounded like she was trying not to laugh.

As Dipper stripped in his room and grabbed a towel, he glanced down, and mumbled to himself, “I won’t be using any hot water. At all.”

/

Pacifica smiled to herself as she finished her basic yoga routine. She had gotten the vibe that Dipper might still be attracted to her after the first couple times they’d talked, and now she was sure of it. If she was entirely honest with herself, she was actually attracted to him now, as well. He’d grown a lot since the last time she’d seen him, and put on a little muscle. He wasn’t bulky by any means, but when she’d accidentally seen him naked earlier in the week, he had a sort of lean definition, like a runner. She’d always liked his face—but of course she’d never told anyone that. The summer Mabel told her Dipper had a crush on her, Pacifica had been Queen Bitch, and even though she’d thought Dipper was cute, she considered him too much of a dork to be worth her time. She regretted that now, and wondered how different things would have been if she’d given him a chance.

Pacifica was surprised at herself, because usually if she liked a boy, she let him know, and took control of things. She was a Northwest. She was used to getting what she wanted. But it was different with Dipper. She wanted to be his friend, first and foremost, because that’s what he really needed right now. And although she could tell Dipper found her attractive, she wasn’t sure if he actually liked her, or just liked her body. He did keep trying to push her away, after all.

No, she wouldn’t make the first move this time. She didn’t want to feel like she was taking advantage of Dipper when he was mentally and emotionally unstable. She would be there for him as a friend, but if he wanted more, he’d have to make the first move.

Pacifica heard Dipper clomping heavily down the stairs, so she grabbed her backpack and met him at the bottom. He was dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt with white text that read: “You read my shirt. That’s enough social interaction for one day.” His hair wasn’t dripping, but his dark curls were still quite damp.

“Your hair’s getting long,” said Pacifica softly, reaching up to brush it out of his eyes. “It looks good this way. Although I guess the curls get tighter as they dry, so it doesn’t look as long when it’s not wet, but I don’t mean it doesn’t not look good when it’s dry and oh God I’m babbling please stop me—”

Dipper cut her off with a finger to her lips, and a warm smile. “I’m hungry,” he said, and nudged her toward the stairs. “Go shower.”

Pacifica nodded, her cheeks red. She’d never been one to lose her composure around a boy she liked. This was new, and highly disconcerting. She turned to race up the stairs, her heart pounding at the memory of Dipper’s finger against her lips. No boy had ever affected her like this, and she wasn’t sure what to think of it.

/

Pacifica had acted a little weird before her shower, but by the time she had finished getting ready and drove them to Greasy’s, she was back to her normal, unflappable self.

They found an open booth and sat down. It had been quite some time since Dipper had eaten at Greasy’s so he picked up the menu to peruse. Pacifica sat across from him, fidgeting with her cutlery.

“You already know what you want?” Dipper asked, glancing up at her.

“Yeah,” said Pacifica. “I always get the same thing. Creature of habit, you know.”

“Aw, where’s the fun in that?” teased Dipper. “You have no spirit of adventure, Northwest.”

Pacifica arched her eyebrows at him. “Is that so? What _adventurous_ thing are _you_ going to order, then, Pines?”

Dipper felt his face redden. “Probably just pancakes,” he mumbled, grinning up at Pacifica sheepishly.

Pacifica smirked. “Very adventurous.”

Before Dipper could say anything else, Lazy Susan approached the table.

“Hi kids! Dipper Pines! I didn’t know you were in town! I didn’t expect to see you this summer, after…”

“Hi Susan,” said Dipper, swallowing hard and trying to remain stoic. This was the reason he hadn’t wanted to be out in public much lately—running into people he knew would always inevitably lead to awkward and upsetting conversations about his Grunkles’ deaths. “S-stan and Ford left the Mystery Shack to me. I’m staying there while I try to decide what to do with it.”

“Well, sweetie, if there’s anything I can do for you, let me know,” said Susan, resting her hand on Dipper’s shoulder. “Your great uncles were good men. I am so sorry for your loss.”

Dipper tried to speak, but nothing came out. He cleared his throat, and tried again.

“Thanks. I-I’m fine, though.”

“If you say so honey,” said Lazy Susan. “What can I get you kids?”

“I’ll have my usual, Susan,” said Pacifica. “Dipper?”

“What?” asked Dipper, momentarily confused. “Oh—a short stack of pancakes and a coffee, please,” he mumbled.

“Coming right up,” said Susan cheerfully, as she bustled back toward the kitchen.

Dipper stared down at his hands. The bright orange cast on his left hand was a garish reminder of his inability to control his emotions. He couldn’t lose his composure right now, though. He was in public. He had to be “okay.” He bit his lip, and took a deep breath.

“Dipper, we can leave if you want,” said Pacifica softly. She reached across the table, covered his right hand with her left, and gave it a gentle squeeze.

Dipper glanced up at Pacifica, embarrassed when a single tear escaped from his watery eyes, leaving a wet trail down his cheek. He pulled his hand out from under Pacifica’s, and wiped his cheek roughly.

“But we just ordered,” he mumbled.

“No worries,” said Pacifica brightly. “Be right back!”

Dipper laid his head on his arms and closed his eyes while he waited for Pacifica to come back. He was tired of feeling so pathetic. It had been three and a half weeks since he’d found out about his Grunkles’ deaths. He should at least be able to accept people’s condolences without breaking down. But here he was, fighting back tears, after being in the restaurant for less than ten minutes.

“Dipper?”

Startled, Dipper realized he must have dozed off. He sat up and saw Pacifica standing in front of the booth, two take-out containers in her hands, with two plastic-lidded coffee cups sitting on top of them.

“Ready to go?” asked Pacifica.

Dipper nodded, and swallowed back the lump forming in his throat. This wasn’t the Pacifica he’d known from previous summers. That Pacifica would have probably laughed at him and called him a baby for crying. She certainly wouldn’t have paid for him to get a cast put on his broken hand. This Pacifica was kind, and considerate, and she _got_ him. He briefly wondered what had brought about the change in her personality. He wasn’t sure what could have caused it, but he was grateful for it.

“Can you carry the coffees?” asked Pacifica, as Dipper scooted out of the booth.

“Yeah,” said Dipper quietly, taking them from her. “And Paz? Thanks.”

/

Dipper was quiet on the ride back to the Mystery Shack, and while they ate their take-out at the kitchen table. Pacifica knew he was upset, so she decided she wouldn’t push him to talk. He looked like he might burst into tears at any moment.

As Pacifica chewed the last bite of her omlette, Dipper drained the dregs of his coffee, and sat the cup down with a decided thud. He cleared his throat, and opened his mouth. Then he flushed, and closed it.

“What’s up Pines?” asked Pacifica with a grin. He was cute when he got all awkward and flustered.

“I…I don’t want to, because you’ve already done so much for me, but I don’t have anyone else…” Dipper trailed off. “Not that I wouldn’t ask you even if I did have someone else. I mean—ugh.”

Pacifica couldn’t help it—she giggled. Dipper turned a brilliant shade of crimson.

“Sorry, it’s just that you’re so adorable,” said Pacifica.

“I am not,” mumbled Dipper. “I’m manly.”

“It’s okay, you can be both,” said Pacifica, leaning across the table and ruffling Dipper’s hair. “Now you wanna try saying what you were saying again?”

Dipper sighed, and ran his fingers through his tousled hair, trying in vain to smooth it.

“Can I ask you a favor?” he asked finally.

“Yeah, Pines,” said Pacifica. “What do you need?”

“I’ve been trying to do a walkthrough of the Shack, to take an accounting of all the stuff left to me in the will… make sure everything’s in order and whatnot,” explained Dipper. “Only I can’t. Every time I try, I see something that sets me off and I break down crying and… well, it’s how I ended up with a broken hand.”

“So you want me to do the walkthrough with you?” prompted Pacifica.

“Will you, please?” asked Dipper, making eye contact with Pacifica, and then quickly looking away. “I…I mean you don’t have to. Don’t feel obligated—but if you would—”

“Dipper, of course I’ll do the walkthrough with you,” said Pacifica gently. “I’m going to let you in on a bit of information you seem to have thus-far been oblivious to: I’m here for you. If you need me—I’m here. I may not know exactly what you’re going through, but I know you need a friend while you go through it.”

Pacifica pretended to not see Dipper’s lower lip quiver, as she picked up her empty take-out box and stood up to place it in the trash can.

“Thanks, Paz.”

“Not a problem,” she said, waving her hand. “So where do you want to start?”

/

“Grunkle Ford’s lab,” said Dipper, as he led Pacifica toward the lab’s hidden entrance in the gift shop.

“Um, Dipper?” said Pacifica. “That’s a vending machine.”

Dipper looked at her and rolled his eyes, then punched the code into the keypad on the machine, his hand shaking slightly.

“Oh,” said Pacifica softly, as the machine slid out of the way to reveal a hidden doorway.

“You’ve never been down here, have you?” asked Dipper. He was trying to keep up the conversation, so he wouldn’t have to think too much about what he was about to see.

“Nope, can’t say that I have,” said Pacifica, as she followed Dipper through the doorway. “Woah, an elevator? How deep down is the lab?”

“Oh, a ways,” said Dipper, in what he hoped was a casual tone. He pressed the button, and the elevator doors slid open. “After you,” he said, with a wave of his good hand.

Pacifica entered the elevator, followed closely by Dipper. He pressed the button for Ford’s lab. As the doors slid closed and the elevator lurched into motion, he felt as if an icy hand gripped his heart. He began trembling, and tried to take a deep calming breath, but he felt like he couldn’t get any air.

“M-maybe I’m not ready for this,” Dipper said, his voice quavering.

He felt Pacifica’s warm hand on his shoulder. She turned him to face her, and instead of saying anything, she hugged him tightly, resting her head against his shoulder.

“Paz—” he said, his voice catching. His arms instinctively wrapped around her.

“Dipper, I’m here with you, okay?” she said, rubbing his back lightly. “I’ll be with you the whole time. But I won’t think any less of you if you decide to turn back now. You do what you need to do.”

Dipper sighed. “No. I have to do this eventually. It might as well be now.”

He heard the doors slide open, but he didn’t let go of Pacifica immediately. He breathed in the scent of her shampoo—she must have brought her own in her backpack. Dipper wondered briefly if she’d planned on spending the night all along. He pushed the thought aside as something to ponder later.

Finally, he disengaged from Pacifica’s hug, and squared his shoulders. He hoped he looked more confident than he felt, as he strode forward, into the darkened laboratory. He easily located the light-switch, and flicked it on.

Dipper wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but he knew he’d probably be pretty emotional. He was surprised, then, that the familiar sight of Grunkle Ford’s lab, in its state of perpetual organized chaos, didn’t elicit an overwhelming wave of emotion like the empty picture frames or the embroidered bath towels had. It had an air of disuse about it. Ford had never given Soos or Melody the code to the vending machine, because he didn’t want anyone down in his lab during the majority of the year when he and Stan were adventuring at sea.

“Are you okay?” asked Pacifica, after several moments of silence.

“I think so,” said Dipper quietly. “I’m going to look around. You can too—just—it’s probably best if you avoid touching anything.”

Pacifica nodded, and wandered in the opposite direction from Dipper, taking in shelves of dusty scientific instruments, and specimen jars filled with formaldehyde and the remains of creatures that looked like they did not belong on planet Earth.

Dipper found a pile of notes regarding a failed experiment of Ford’s that they had undertaken several years ago during one of the twins’ summer visits. He leafed through the notes, and smiled in fond remembrance. They had pissed off a lot of gnomes that day.

“Hey, Dipper?” Pacifica called. She was across the room, in front of Ford’s old wooden writing desk. Her voice sounded strange.

“What’s up, Paz?” he asked, as he began walking in her direction.

“There—there’s an envelope on this desk,” she said, sounding spooked. “It—it says—”

Dipper had reached her by this time. He looked where she was pointing. On top of a dusty pile of papers on Ford’s desk, there lay a thick, sealed envelope. On the back, in Ford’s lazy cursive, four words were scrawled:

“For Dipper’s Eyes Only.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the weird formatting (extra spaces and whatnot). Tried to get rid of it, but no dice.

 

 

In the dim light of Ford’s dusty laboratory, Dipper stood shaking, holding the thick, sealed envelope at arm’s length, as if it might explode. He read Ford’s untidy scrawl again.

 _For Dipper’s eyes only_.

“Are you going to open it?” Pacifica’s voice caused Dipper to jump, sending his already too-quick pulse rate skyrocketing.

Dipper nodded slowly. He glanced around the musty lab, licked his lips, and swallowed. “Not here, though.”

They crossed the room and entered the elevator, where Dipper had to try twice to hit the ‘up’ button—he missed it the first time because he was shaking so badly.

Pacifica rested a hand gently on one of Dipper’s shoulders, but quickly withdrew it, as he immediately tensed up at her touch.

When they reached the gift shop, Dipper made a beeline for the ladder to the roof. As he opened the hatch, he heard feet on the ladder behind him. He turned and looked down at Pacifica.

“I think I need to do this on my own, if you don’t mind, Paz,” he mumbled. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but he also didn’t want anyone else near him as he read a letter, addressed solely to him, from his dead great uncle.

Pacifica nodded. “I understand,” she said, as she stepped back down to the floor. “I’ll be watching tv or something. I have my cellphone on me, so text me if you need me, okay?”

Dipper nodded mutely, and climbed through the hatch, dropping it closed behind him.

The sun was bright and warm, and a light breeze ruffled Dipper’s hair as he sat down on the cedar shingles. He dangled his legs off the edge of the roof, and stared at the envelope in his trembling hands. He took a deep breath, and tore the envelope open, sliding out several folded pieces of paper. He bit his lip, unfolded the papers, and began to read.

#

Dear Dipper,

I am so sorry that you’re reading this, because it means that Stanley and I are dead. I don’t know whether it will amuse or upset you to know that I’ve left a letter like this in my lab every time Stan and I have gone off on the Stan O’ War. We decided after our first summer together with you kids that we wanted you to inherit the Mystery Shack. It just seemed right. You’re like the best of both Stan and I when we were young. Curious and smart, but also brave and loyal. We think the world of you, kid.

As I said, I’ve left many letters like this for you before, just in case. This one is a little different, however. Because if Stan and I have died after what we’re planning, you may be in danger. I am so sorry, Dipper. Please understand that Stan and I were trying to do what we thought was right. We only meant well. Let me explain.

When we locked Bill Cipher in Stan’s mindscape during Weirdmageddon, and then erased Stan’s memory, we thought we’d gotten rid of the demonic triangle for good. Unfortunately, that turned out to not be the case. The only thing I can surmise is that when Stan regained his memory, including his memory of Bill, that kept a seed of the demon alive in his mind.

We didn’t notice it at first. Every once in awhile, Stan might say something out of character for him—something particularly malicious. Then he’d laugh, and say he must be channeling Bill. But in the past year, it got worse. Stan would lose blocks of time. I’d go out, and come back to find him bloody and passed out, a fork having been stabbed into his arm. One time he had even carved a triangle into his abdomen with a straight razor. The last straw was when I found him rummaging around in my lab one day. When I called his name, he turned around, and his eyes were yellow.

I was terrified. Well, so was Stan, when he was back in control of himself. I no longer let my brother out of my sight, and we began researching a way to get rid of Bill without having to erase Stan’s memories again. And we found a way, Dipper. But it is extremely dangerous. We’re trying to create a vessel for Bill Cipher. Something he’ll be trapped in, without his powers. He may still be insane, but he shouldn’t be able to harm anyone. In theory.

Normally I would attempt an experiment like this in my lab, but Stan is worried that if things go wrong, we could be putting Gravity Falls, and all our friends at risk again. He has a point. So the plan is to attempt the experiment out at sea, on the Stan O’ War. Hopefully, if things go wrong, the only ones hurt will be me and Stanley. Hopefully.

Unfortunately, if you’re reading this, Dipper, you can assume that things _have_ gone wrong. Here is my advice for you:

TRUST NO ONE. If the experiment failed, we may very well have unleashed Bill Cipher back into the world. You know better than most that he can possess people. No one is safe.

DO NOT LET ANYONE INTO MY LAB. This goes along with trusting no one. Stan thinks that when Bill had control of him, he was looking through my plans, trying to find a way to rebuild the portal. This cannot be allowed to happen.

PREPARE YOURSELF. If the worst has happened, and Bill Cipher is loose again, he _will_ return to the Mystery Shack. Arm yourself. Teach yourself some of the spells from my journals—you know the ones I told you never to try? I take it back. You need those spells. The defensive, and offensive ones.

I am so sorry that you are reading this, and that Stan and I have to place this burden on you. But Dipper, you may be all that stands between Bill Cipher and a second Weirdmageddon.

We love you. Forgive us.

Ford

#

  


Dipper stared at the letter, trying to comprehend what he’d just read. Stan and Ford were no longer a part of this world, but there was a good chance that Bill Cipher was. Dipper could still hear the echo of Bill’s maniacal laughter ringing in his head. He wiped his wet eyes with the back of his good hand, and took a shaky breath. The tension in his chest, normally a dull, soft-edged pain, imploded into a jagged black hole. It felt like the world was collapsing in on him, and there was nothing he could do about it.

 

TRUST NO ONE.

 

Dipper bit back a wet laugh. Pacifica. He’d wondered why she was behaving so differently toward him. This could be the answer. She was possessed by Bill, and being nice to Dipper so she could gain access to Ford’s lab. And like an idiot, he’d let her in. Not only that—he’d punched in the door code right in front of her, so she could sneak back any time she wanted.

 

Like right now. Shit.

 

Dipper hastily shoved the letter back in the envelope and jammed it in his pocket, threw the hatch open, and slid down the ladder into the gift shop. His heart pounding in his ears, he approached the vending machine. It was shut. He heard the laugh track from a sitcom coming from the TV in the living room, so he slowly pushed the “Employees Only” door open, and quietly made his way toward the sound of canned laughter.  


Pacifica was curled up in Grunkle Stan’s armchair, one hand hanging limply off the side. Dipper heard a light snore, and realized she was asleep. He tip-toed toward her, and grabbed a baseball bat that was leaning against the wall. He stood over her, the bat tight in his grip behind his back.  


Pacifica’s mouth was curved into a small smile, and her dark lashes fluttered lightly against her cheeks, like she was dreaming. She didn’t _look_ possessed. But then, the only way Dipper knew to tell whether or not someone was possessed by Bill was if their eyes were yellow, with slit pupils. Every time they had made eye contact in the past few days, her eyes were the distinct, clear shade of blue that they always had been. She had beautiful eyes.  


“Fucking hell,” muttered Dipper. Trust no one. That’s what Ford had said. Dipper was conflicted, and he couldn’t even call Wendy or Mabel for advice. TRUST NO ONE. Ford’s voice echoed the words over and over in his head. Dipper couldn’t think straight. He dropped the bat and ran to the kitchen, clutching his head in his hands.

  


#

  


Pacifica awoke with a start. She heard footsteps running away from her, and frowned at the mysterious baseball bat that rolled lazily on the floor in front of her chair.  


“Dipper?” she called. She sat up and stretched, then stood and turned off the TV. She heard a sniff come from the kitchen, and walked in to find Dipper sitting at the table, holding his head in his hands, tears dripping freely from his face.

 

“Oh sweetie,” she murmured.

 

Dipper flinched like she had smacked him. He lifted his head, and stared at her, his red-rimmed eyes intense. She had to break their eye contact. It felt like he was looking into her soul.  


“Blue,” muttered Dipper. He pushed a hand through his tangle of curls, and shook his head.

 

“Um, beg pardon?” asked Pacifica, raising an eyebrow. Dipper was paler than usual, and his skin had a gray tinge to it. Whatever had been in that letter had seriously fucked with him.  


“Your eyes,” said Dipper softly. “They’re blue.”  


“Um, were you expecting them to be a different color?” Pacifica asked, with an uncomfortable giggle.  


Dipper didn’t reply. He looked lost in thought, the muscle in his jaw clenching and unclenching.  


“Dipper, what’s wrong?” asked Pacifica, her brows knit with concern. She pulled out a chair and sat across from him. “Is there anything I can do?”  


Pacifica’s innocent question elicited a wet chuckle from Dipper.  


“You can stop acting so weird,” he said.

 

Pacifica blinked, taken aback. “Weird how?”

 

Dipper gave Pacifica a baleful look. “You know how. Being nice to me. Pretending to be my friend. We both know you can’t stand me.”

 

“That’s not—I’m not pretending!” said Pacifica, her voice quavering. “Why would you say that?”

 

Dipper looked down at the worn, wooden table top. “Trust no one,” he whispered.

 

“Dipper, I’m worried about you,” said Pacifica, her tone earnest. “You were starting to do a little better, but after reading that letter, you’re acting like a different person...”

 

“ _I’m_ acting like a different person?” Dipper spat. He raised his gaze to meet Pacifica’s, his brown eyes defiant. “You’re one to talk.”

 

Pacifica inhaled sharply. “I know I used to be a bitch and all, but people change.” Her throat felt tight, and she swallowed back the sob trying to rise. “I thought you—I just wanted—“ She couldn’t get the words out.

 

Dipper looked back down at the table top. “I think you should go,” he said, his voice hard.  


Pacifica didn’t say anything. She knew if she tried, she’d start crying. She silently got to her feet, walked to the living room to grab her book bag, and let herself out the front door. As she was pulling away, she glanced back at the Mystery Shack. Dipper was standing at the window, a pale ghost, watching her. His face was inscrutable.

 

#  


Dipper watched Pacifica drive off, the black hole in his chest expanding. He didn’t think Pacifica was possessed. If she hung around him, though, she might end up getting possessed. It was better for Dipper to be alone. Bill could use anyone to get to him.  


Dipper sat back down at the kitchen table, and hung his head. She’d looked so hurt. He felt like a monster.  


“I am a monster,” he whispered to himself. “I don’t deserve to have friends. I’m a literal sack of shit.”  


The tension in his chest, the black hole, was going to consume him. He gritted his teeth and pounded his casted hand as hard as he could against the table. The hot spark of pain in his newly set bones helped center him. It wasn’t enough, though. His chest was going to cave in. He tried to scream, but he felt like he couldn’t get enough air to make any noise. Without thinking he stood from his chair and walked over to the cutlery drawer. He pulled it open, and grabbed the sharpest-looking chef’s knife. He held his casted hand in front of him, and slid the knife across his lower arm, just below his inner elbow.  


The pain was electric, and biting. The cut was shallow, but the sting was powerful. The tension in his chest remained, so he slid the knife across his arm again, pressing harder this time. Blood welled up around the knife as it glided through his skin. He’d sliced deeper than he meant to. There was a dull throbbing behind the sharp bite of this cut.  


Dipper carelessly tossed the knife into the sink, and stared at the blood dripping down his arm, onto the cracked linoleum floor. It quickly became a small puddle of dark red. The tension in his chest was gone. The black hole had swallowed enough. Now, all he felt was the dull throb of blood leaving his body, and cold.  


Dipper smiled, as the puddle on the floor spread.

  


#

  


“Hello?”  


“Hey, Mabel, it’s Pacifica.”

 

“I know,” replied Mabel. Pacifica could practically hear her roll her eyes. “Your number is in my phone. What’s up?”

 

Pacifica paused, then said quickly, “I’m worried about Dipper.”

 

“Why? Is he acting weirder than usual?” Mabel asked.

 

“Well, yeah, actually,” answered Pacifica. “He’d been doing okay, but this morning we found a letter that Ford had left behind for him. I don’t know what the letter said, but after he read it he kinda freaked.”

 

“Freaked in what way?” Mabel sounded concerned.

 

“He got really paranoid, and told me to stop pretending to be his friend, then asked me to leave,” Pacifica said quickly, trying to hide the shaking of her voice. “He said ‘Trust no one,’” she continued. “But before reading the letter, just last night, he actually fell asleep on me while we watched a movie. He seemed to trust me just fine, then.”

 

“Aww,” squealed Mabel. “He fell asleep on you? That’s so adorkable!”

 

“Mabel, focus,” said Pacifica. “Not only did he suddenly go all paranoid and mean, he looked just… he looked really unwell.”  


“I’ll call him and see what’s up,” said Mabel. “I’ll text Wendy to see if she’ll call and talk to him, too. He’s probably just been hit with a renewed sense of grief after reading the letter.”

 

Pacifica sighed. “It seemed like more than just grief, Mabel. But okay. You know your brother better than I do. Just—call me and let me know what he says, okay?”

 

“I will. Bye, Paz.”  


“Bye.”

  


#

  


_He barely clung to consciousness. He’d been floating aimlessly for days. His lips were cracked and bleeding, and stung when he tried to drink sea water. As soon as he swallowed, he threw it back up. Everything was hazy and unfocused._  


_Ford had sacrificed himself in the squall, but it was going to be for naught. He wasn’t going to survive much longer._

 

_He shook his head, trying to get rid of the low hum buzzing in his ears. It didn’t go away. It got louder. A boat. It was a boat!_

 

 _He tried desperately to call out, but the words caught in his parched throat. He tried splashing with his arms, but he was so weak he could barely raise them. He was going to have to just hope that whoever was on the boat was observant, and saw him._  


_Suddenly the boat was next to him. Shouting, in Spanish. Rough, calloused hands, pulling at his arms, dragging him on board. Blurry, tanned faces. Concerned eyes. A slow trickle of water passing through his lips._

 

 _He might make it, after all._  


Dipper opened his eyes slowly. This dream had felt just as real as the others, but it was tinged with hope, rather than terror. He tried to sit up, but was immediately hit with a wave of vertigo. He was cold, and laying on something hard and wet. He squinted until he was able to make out the familiar pattern on the linoleum of the kitchen floor.

 

And the blood. Dipper felt a dull throb in his arm, as if seeing the blood had notified his self-inflicted wound to start hurting again. He raised his head slightly to look down at the cut. It was still bleeding sluggishly.  


Dipper’s heart began pounding as a loud noise filled the kitchen. Music. “Don’t Start Unbelieving.” Mabel’s ringtone. His phone was sitting on the kitchen table.

 

Dipper took a deep breath and tried to stand again, but the effort was too much. How much blood had he lost? He looked back down at the pool he was laying in. Too much. Enough that he had passed out.

 

He couldn’t make it to the phone. He was too weak. And so tired. He decided to close his eyes. Maybe he would feel better after a nap.

 

His thoughts grew muddled, and Dipper let out a breath he’d been holding in, as velvety darkness carried him away.


	7. Chapter 7

Pacifica didn’t go home. She drove aimlessly around Gravity Falls, anxiety tightening her chest, as she waited to hear back from Mabel. Dipper had been acting like he’d snapped.

 

Pacifica’s stomach dropped as she suddenly recalled the way she’d woken up from her nap: the thud of something being dropped, and footsteps running from her. The baseball bat rolling on the floor in front of her chair. Had he been about to—? No. Pacifica refused to entertain the notion. Even though the evidence was damning. This was Dipper Pines. He was a good guy, and she trusted him—even if he apparently no longer trusted her.

 

The “My Little Pony” theme song began playing at full volume from Pacifica’s phone, startling her so much that she nearly ran her car off the road. She _had_ to remember to change Mabel’s ringtone.

 

“Mabel, is he okay?” Pacifica blurted out when she took the call, forgoing the usual salutations.

 

“I don’t know, Paz,” Mabel said, her voice small with worry. “I called a bajillion times and he didn’t answer. He won’t answer my texts either. Wendy couldn’t get hold of him either, but she said she’d keep trying. Will you—“

 

“Go check on him?” interrupted Pacifica. “On my way,” she said, and immediately pulled a sharp U-turn, and began speeding back toward the Mystery Shack.

 

“Thank you,” said Mabel. “Tell the dingus to call me, okay?”

 

“I will,” said Pacifica. “Bye.”

 

“Bye.”

 

Pacifica put her foot to the floor, and made it back to the Mystery Shack in less than five minutes. She punched the brakes, screeching to a halt in the parking lot, and dashed to the front door. She knocked, and waited impatiently, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She tried to give Dipper a minute to get to the door, but the feeling of dread gnawing at her stomach compelled her to let herself in. It wasn’t locked.

 

“Dipper?” called Pacifica, peering into the living room. She jumped, as Monty Python’s “Lumberjack Song” began blaring in the kitchen. Her mouth twitched upwards at the corners. That must be Wendy’s ringtone. She trotted to the kitchen, stopped in the doorway, and her hands flew to her mouth as she screamed.

 

The sight that met her was horrifying. Dipper lay sprawled out in front of the sink in a pool of dark red blood, eyes closed, and bone pale. There was a deep gash just under the inner elbow on his left arm, from which blood was still slowly weeping.

 

“No, no, no, no, no,” wailed Pacifica, the tears leaking from her eyes going unnoticed as she grabbed a dishtowel and wrapped it tightly around Dipper’s gaping wound. She was getting covered in blood, but that was the least of her concerns. She held two fingers against Dipper’s throat, desperate to find a pulse.

 

“Please, please, please, oh God,” cried Pacifica, pressing harder. She felt like she couldn’t breathe.

 

Then, there it was. A pulse. Very faint, but there. Pacifica let out a sob of relief, and, one hand still holding the towel tightly around his arm, pulled out her cellphone and dialed 911.

 

“911, what is your emergency?” answered the operator.

 

“My friend… he’s cut bad,” said Pacifica, struggling to talk while suppressing her sobs. “He’s lost a lot of blood. Please, he needs an ambulance.”

 

Pacifica answered the rest of the operator’s questions in a daze. She kept staring at Dipper’s face, pale and gaunt, his lips parted slightly. Why had he done this? Was this really a suicide attempt? He’d seemed upset earlier, but not suicidal. She mentally berated herself for leaving him alone—especially when she could tell he was in a vulnerable mental state.

 

The wailing of sirens approaching shook Pacifica out of her mental self-flagellation. There was a loud knock on the front door, but she dared not let go of the towel on his arm.

 

“In here,” she screamed. “Hurry!”

 

Then there was a flurry of action as EMTs rushed in with a gurney, and lifted Dipper onto it. Pacifica was covered in so much blood that they asked if she needed medical attention as well. Then, in mere minutes, the EMTs were gone, transporting Dipper to the hospital at top speed, their sirens blaring.

 

Pacifica stared at the blood-smeared floor, and bit her lip to cut off another wave of sobs. She ran to her car, and sped off in the direction of the hospital.

 

As she drove away, the cheerful tune of “The Lumberjack Song” began playing again, echoing through the empty, blood-soaked kitchen.

 

#

 

_The hospital_ _room_ _was brightly lit. The lights hurt his eyes. He_ _wanted_ _to ask_ _his_ _nurse to turn_ _the_ _lights off, but he couldn’t speak Spanish._

 

“ _Um, excuse me,” he mumbled, his voice gravelly with disuse. “Do-do you speak English?”_

 

_The nurse bustled up to him and nodded cheerfully. “Not too good, but enough to get by,” she said with a self-deprecating grin. “Do you need something, mijo?”_

 

_He attempted a smile, but his dry lips cracked and bled._

“ _Damn,” he muttered, touching a finger to his lips. “The lights are giving me a headache. Is there any way you could dim them, or turn them off?”_

 

“ _Of course!” the nurse said, patting his arm gently. “_ _And I’ll be right back with some ointment for your lips.” She flicked the light switch as she left the room, and the harsh glare of the florescent bulbs f_ _ad_ _ed away, leaving behind the soft glow of the much dimmer emergency lights._

 

_He sighed, and leaned back against his pillows. He glanced at the bedside table, and reached over to pick up a crumpled, faded, and water damaged photograph. He held it to his face, and sighed again._

 

_It was a picture of a boy and a girl, probably brother and sister by the looks of it. The girl was wearing a sweater with a shooting star on it, and the boy wore a blue and white trucker cap, emblazoned with a pine tree._

 

“ _Pine Tree,” he murmured, touching the boy’s face,_ _and then caressing the girl’s_ _. “And Shooting Star.”_

 

_The nurse strode back into the room, a tube of ointment in her hands. She nodded to the photo._

 

“ _The fishermen that found you said that was the only thing you had on you. Not even an ID. Is that your family?”_

 

“ _I...I don’t know,” he said. His hands were trembling. “I can’t remember.”_

 

#

 

Pacifica sat next to Dipper’s hospital bed, her head in her hands. The doctors had said it was a close call. If she hadn’t found him when she did…

 

She reached out and grasped Dipper’s right hand. His skin was cool to the touch, but not icy like it had been earlier in the day. He’d had multiple blood transfusions. He still hadn’t woken up, though. The doctors said to give it time. They doubted he’d wake up before tomorrow. They recommended that Pacifica go home and get cleaned up, but she’d refused to leave Dipper’s side. She didn’t care that her clothes were covered in dried blood. She’d at least washed her hands.

 

“Pacifica?” A flurry of red hair and green flannel rushed into the room, and Pacifica stood, meeting Wendy in a hug. They’d never been close. Definitely not hugging close. But that didn’t matter right now.

 

“I got here as soon as I could,” said Wendy breathlessly, as they parted their embrace. She looked down at Dipper, and tears welled up in her green eyes. “Why’d you do it, dork?” she whispered. She turned back to Pacifica. “Has he woken up at all, yet?”

 

Pacifica shook her head. “No. The doctors think he’ll probably come around tomorrow. He lost _so much_ _blood_ , Wendy,” she said, her voice quavering.

 

Wendy glanced at Pacifica’s clothes. “I see that,” she said. “I can sit with him if you want to go home and get cleaned up. And Mabel should be here before morning. She said she was going to drive through the night.”

 

Pacifica shook her head, and sat back down. “I’m okay. I don’t want to leave him.”

 

Wendy took in Pacifica’s tear-stained face, and trembling hands. She smiled sadly. “Okay. Well, I’m famished. I’m gonna run down to the cafeteria and grab some nosh. You want anything?”

 

“Um, coffee, I guess,” said Pacifica, shrugging. She hadn’t eaten since having breakfast with Dipper that morning, but she didn’t think her stomach could handle food right now.

 

Wendy nodded, and headed toward the door. “If he wakes up while I’m gone, smack him, then hug him for me, okay?”

 

Pacifica managed a small laugh. “Okay.”

 

#

 

“ _You still have no memory?” asked the psychiatrist. He stroked his goatee, and looked at the ceiling thoughtfully, before continuing. “You_ are _American, though, yes?”_

 

_He shrugged. “I speak English with an American accent, so I’m assuming so. I’m sorry I can’t tell you more. All I know is I was on a boat with… a friend? And we got caught in a squall and the boat capsized.” He paused, and swallowed hard, trying not to cry. “Ford—my friend—he saved me. Gave me his life jacket. Then he went under.”_

 

“ _I am sorry for your loss,” the psychiatrist intoned, with practiced sympathy. “However, you have been here long enough to stabilize. Although you have no identification, you do seem American. Per hospital regulations, we will have to contact the American embassy tomorrow, so that they can arrange to have you transferred to a facility on U.S. soil. They will likely have more luck identifying you.”_

 

_He nodded. “I understand,” he said quietly. “I appreciate the care that your facility has provided me. Especially Rita. The nurse? If I don’t get a chance to say goodbye to her will you tell her I said thank you?”_

 

_The psychiatrist nodded. “I will be sure to do that. Now, tell me about this picture you were found with.”_

 

_#_

 

A loud gasp, followed by muffled crying, woke Pacifica up. She winced as she moved. Sleeping in a hospital room chair was not good for one’s back. She opened her eyes and rubbed them.

 

“Paz,” Mabel said, seeing the blonde’s eyes open. “Thank you so—I can’t believe he— _why_?!”

 

Pacifica stood and stretched. She glanced at the bed, where Dipper still slept. His cheeks were pinker now.

 

“I don’t know why, Mabes,” said Pacifica, striding forward to embrace Dipper’s twin. “After he read that letter from Ford, it was like something in him snapped. I’d say we should ask him when he wakes up, but I don’t want to upset him again.”

 

Mabel nodded, and pulled away from Pacifica, wiping her cheeks. “I just never thought he would—I mean, I know he was sad, but attempting suicide?”

 

Pacifica ran a hand through her hair. “He’s more than just sad, Mabel. See that cast on his hand? He broke his knuckles by punching the wall the other day, because he couldn’t handle his grief. I took him to get it fixed. If I would have known it would escalate to this—I’m so sorry.” Pacifica looked at her feet and squeezed her watering eyes shut. She was tired of crying.

 

“No.”

 

Pacifica and Mabel turned to Dipper, who had spoken. His eyes were still shut.

 

“Dipper?” whispered Pacifica, grabbing his hand.

 

“I can’t remember,” grunted Dipper. He was talking in his sleep. A tear slipped from between his closed eyelids.

 

“Shooting Star and Pine Tree, that’s all I know!” he choked out. “I just want to go home!”

 

Mabel and Pacifica looked at each other, their confusion mirrored on each other’s faces.

 

“I just want to go home,” Dipper said again, his voice sounding weak and defeated. He turned his head, pressing it into the pillow, and let out a pitiful sob, before quieting.

 

Wendy clomped into the room. “Mabel, you’re here!” she cried loudly. “I fell asleep in the waiting room. Those chairs do not make good—“ she stopped mid-sentence, seeing the stricken looks on Mabel and Pacifica’s faces. “What’s wrong?”

 

Pacifica bit her lip and turned to face Mabel and Wendy. “I should probably tell you about Dipper’s nightmares.”

 

#

 

_They weren’t going to let him go. He knew it. Without identification—without memories—they thought he was insane. The Mexican hospital had felt like a spa compared to the facility he’d been transferred to in the states. They treated him like a criminal here._

 

“ _I just want to go home,” he cried, staring at the picture of Shooting Star and Pine Tree. He didn’t remember their names. He didn’t remember where they lived. He didn’t even remember what relation he was to them. All he knew was that they represented home._

 

_That was why he decided to break out. He couldn’t stay there. He wasn’t crazy. He knew—he just_ knew _that as soon as he found Pine Tree and Shooting Star he’d remember everything. He wasn’t insane. He just couldn’t remember. Not being able to remember wasn’t a crime._

 

_No. He was going to do it._ _He was going to escape. He was going home._

 

_#_

 

Dipper was exhausted. He was in bed, and he had just woken up, but he couldn’t even open his eyes. He groaned.

 

“Dipper?”

 

Her voice was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard. His forced his eyes open.

 

“Paz… what are you doing in my bedroom?” he asked, blinking at her, willing his tired eyes to focus. Her clear blue eyes stared into his. They were red-rimmed, like she’d been crying.

 

“Dipper, you’re in the hospital.” A different voice.

 

“Wendy?” Dipper tried to sit up, but fell back against his pillows.

 

“Mabel, too,” his sister said.

 

“Mabes?! What’s going on?” he asked, staring up at the three concerned faces leaning over him.

 

“You don’t remember?” Pacifica asked quietly.

 

“I just want to go home,” he whimpered. Then he blinked. “I don’t know why I just said that.”

 

“Dipper, look at your left arm,” urged Mabel.

 

He glanced down. “Oh… the cast,” he said sheepishly.

 

Wendy snorted. “Not the cast. Keep looking.”

 

There was a white gauze bandage wrapped around his arm, just below the elbow. He unwrapped it slowly. A large gash, stitched closed, came into sight.

 

“Holy shit. I—oh God, I did that!” The realization hit Dipper like a punch to the gut.

 

“Dude, you almost died,” said Wendy, not one to mince words. “If Pacifica hadn’t had a bad feeling and asked Mabel to call you… if she hadn’t raced back to the Mystery Shack when she did…” She swallowed, not wanting to continue.

 

Dipper turned to Pacifica. She was wearing the same thing she’d worn yesterday, only it was covered in rust-colored stains. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her chin was trembling.

 

“What I said to you… I’m sorry, Paz,” he said, reaching out to take her hand. “I… the letter… I should have told you. But you came back anyway...”

 

He gazed at her, his warm brown eyes saying things to her that he couldn’t yet voice. Pacifica bit her lip, and looked away. A choked sob escaped her lips, and she pulled her hand from Dipper’s grasp.

 

“I have to—bathroom,” she mumbled, and quickly exited the room.

 

Mabel sighed. “I could squeal at how cute you two are, if it weren’t that you were laying in a hospital bed after nearly killing yourself, dingus.”

 

Dipper flushed and looked down. “I didn’t mean to. I just—when I get overwhelmed, the only way I can cope lately is to hurt myself. I—I just cut deeper than I meant to.”

 

“But _why_ were you so overwhelmed?” asked Wendy, her hands on her hips.

 

Dipper opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off when a heavyset nurse bustled into the room.

 

“Oh, you’re awake! You girls should have told someone! I’ll get the doctor.” She turned on her heel and left.

 

Dipper sighed, and lay back against his pillows. He’d have to wait to tell them about Ford’s letter—and about his dreams.

 

#

 

“You’re lucky they didn’t section you,” said Wendy, as she helped Dipper into the Mystery Shack. “I don’t know how you convinced them you weren’t suicidal after what you did.”

 

Dipper spared Wendy a wry grin. “I have a way with words,” he said.

 

Mabel scoffed, as she shut the door behind them. “No, you have a _sister_ who has a way with words. I told them that if you so much as frowned the wrong way I’d take you right back to the hospital for a two-week, padded-wall vacation.”

 

“Thanks, sis,” said Dipper, rolling his eyes. “Ugh. I think I should get started cleaning up. I made quite the mess, bleeding everywhere.” He slowly made his way toward the kitchen, afraid of the sight that would greet him. He stopped in the doorway.

 

“Come on, dork, you just got out of the hospital. Mabel and I can clean up the crime scene,” said Wendy, coming up behind him, and putting a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Um, you don’t have to?” said Dipper, confused. The kitchen was spotless.

 

At that moment the front door opened. Mabel, Wendy, and Dipper all turned to see Pacifica shutting the door behind her. She was wearing a clean outfit, and her hair hung about her shoulders, damp. She paused, and looked at them all staring at her.

 

“What?”

 

“Did you come clean the kitchen when you said you were leaving to rest and get a shower earlier?” asked Dipper.

 

Pacifica blushed, and shrugged. “It needed to be cleaned.”

 

Dipper strode toward her and wrapped his arms around her. Seeing what was happening, Mabel grabbed Wendy’s arm and pulled her into the living room.

 

Dipper pressed his face into Pacifica’s neck, and breathed in the sweet scent of her shampoo. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispered.

 

Dipper’s breath on her neck sent waves of warmth crashing through Pacifica’s body. She shuddered, and laid her head on his shoulder, clutching at his back with white knuckles. Her knees felt weak. She nearly gasped, as she felt his lips brush against her neck.

 

“Dipper, I—“ Pacifica stopped. Dipper let go of her and stepped back so he could see her face.

 

“What?” he asked softly. A single tear rolled down Pacifica’s cheek. He reached out and wiped it away with his thumb.

 

Pacifica shook her head, and looked at her feet. Dipper put a finger under her chin, and tipped her face back up so she would meet his eyes. The heat of his gaze nearly melted her.

 

Her heart was pounding, and she felt lightheaded. She took a shaky breath and reached up, caressing his lips with a finger. She felt his sharp intake of breath.

 

“I’m sorry I didn’t trust you,” Dipper said softly against Pacifica’s finger. “I was stupid.”

 

Pacifica pulled her finger back, and smiled at him coyly. “Don’t worry,” she murmured. “I’m sure I’ll think of a way you can make it up to me.” She turned and sashayed toward the living room. “Come on, Pines. You said you had new dreams to tell us about.”

 

Dipper blew out a breath, and adjusted his pants, before following her. “Coming, Northwest,” he said. Then he chuckled to himself, and said quietly, “well, nearly.”


	8. Chapter 8

By the time Dipper was done telling Wendy, Mabel, and Pacifica about his most recent dream, he was yawning. He was curled up in the corner of Grunkle Stan’s chair, and Mabel had draped a blanket over him.

“We can talk more about the dreams and Ford’s letter later, bro-bro,” said Mabel from her seat on the floor. She patted Dipper’s foot that stuck out from under the blanket. “You should try and get some sleep.”

“But it’s the middle of the day,” protested Dipper weakly.

“Dude. You nearly died yesterday,” said Wendy, bluntly. “You just got out of the hospital like an hour ago. You need rest.”

Dipper looked at Pacifica, to see if she held an opinion on the matter. She shrugged, and nodded in agreement with Wendy.

“Fine,” grumbled Dipper. “I’ll go take a nap.” He threw the blanket off and stood, then nearly fell forward as he was hit with a wave of vertigo. Wendy leapt to her feet and caught him.

“Easy, there, dork,” she said gently. “I’ll help you up the stairs, okay?”

Dipper nodded mutely, embarrassed. He let Wendy steer him up the stairs and to his bedroom. She didn’t let go of his arm until he sat down on the edge of his bed. She leaned down and hugged Dipper so tightly that his back cracked. Dipper grunted.

“Remind me,” Wendy said, as she let go and straightened back up, brushing strands of her long, red hair out of her face, “as soon as you’re feeling better, to punch you.”

Dipper frowned. “What for?”

Wendy raised an eyebrow at him. “My God, have you always been this dense, you dumbass? I’m pissed as hell that 1) you lied to me about not needing me here, because you _clearly_ did, and 2) you’ve been hurting yourself, and nearly killed yourself. I’d be devastated if I lost you, dweeb.” She rested a hand gently on top of his head.

Dipper blushed, and looked down at his hands. The new cast he’d gotten that morning, to replace the blood-stained one, was day-glow pink—a garish reminder of his absolute stupidity—not to mention the line of stitches holding his skin closed over the gash he’d sliced into his own arm.

“I’m sorry, Wendy,” he said softly.

Wendy sighed and ruffled his hair, before turning to leave the room. At the door she paused and looked back at Dipper, who was still staring at his hands, his cheeks red.

“I forgive you, dork. Now get some rest.”

/

Wendy clomped back down the stairs and into the living room, flopping down gracelessly into Stan’s chair.

“Well, I might be an idiot,” she sighed.

“Might?” Pacifica echoed, her eyebrows raised. When Wendy shot her a look, the corners of Pacifica’s mouth twitched upward, and she winked.

Wendy narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. “Mabel, are we sure this is _really_ Pacifica? If so, when did this whole ‘nice’ thing happen? I find it highly disconcerting.”

Mabel shrugged. “Dunno. What’s this about you being an idiot, though?”

Wendy tipped her head up to look at the ceiling. “I just gave Dip some tough love, and I think all it did was make him feel bad.”

“Why, what’d you say to him?” asked Pacifica. It came out sounding a bit more defensive than she meant it to. She shifted in her spot on the floor so that her back was against the chair, and she didn’t have to make eye contact with Wendy.

“I just told him how pissed I was that he lied to me when he said he didn’t need me here, and that his dumb ass nearly killed himself,” Wendy said. “I mean, it’s true… but I didn’t say it to make him feel bad—and I think I did.”

Pacifica sighed and closed her eyes, leaning her head back against Stan’s chair. “I know you meant well, Wendy, but ‘tough love’ is probably not the best tactic to take with Dipper right now. He must seem relatively normal to you guys… he’s definitely perked up since he woke up and you were both here. But trust me—he has _not_ been his normal self, even before he found the letter Ford left him. He’s not mentally well. At all.”

Wendy’s cheeks flushed pink. “Wow, not only are _you_ no longer a bitch… but apparently I am,” she mumbled. “Should I go talk to him?”

Mabel shook her head. “No, let him rest. We’ll pile on the saccharine love when he wakes up. Let’s just chill out right now. I drove all night and you guys slept on chairs. We probably should try and rest, too.”

Mabel turned on the TV, and flipped channels until she found a re-run of Ducktective playing. They settled back to watch the show, and one by one, the girls’ eyes fluttered closed, until everyone slept.

/

_The brakes of the eighteen-wheeler hissed as it pulled to a stop next to him. He climbed up, and stuck his head in the open cab window. The trucker shot him a gap-toothed grin._

“ _You looked like you could use a ride,” the trucker said. “Where you heading?”_

_He shrugged. “North,” he said simply. That was all he could remember. Home was to the North._

“ _Well, that’s not very specific,” said the trucker. “But hop on in. I’ll take you as far North as my route goes, at least.”_

“ _Thanks,” he said, as he opened the door and climbed in. He caught sight of himself in the side mirrors as he shut the door, and scowled._

_It was an uncomfortable thing to not recognize the face staring back at you in the mirror._ _His face just didn’t feel_ right _. His hazel eyes were uncomfortably yellowish, and his high cheekbones were jarringly sharp. His nose was large and slightly red and beaky, while his mouth was thin-lipped and grim. The unkempt blond hair that fell in his eyes appeared to be his natural color—and yet, it still felt wrong._

_What bothered him the most about his appearance, though, was that he looked nothing like Pine Tree and Shooting Star. He was_ _absolutely_ _certain_ _that_ _the kids in the photo were family,_ _but h_ _e would have felt better if he at least resembled them._ _H_ _e didn’t, at all._

_He sighed and slouched down in his seat, then realized that the trucker was talking to him._

“ _Sorry, what was that?”_

“ _I said, do you got a name, son?”_

_This question made him as uncomfortable as not recognizing the face in the mirror. He decided to make something up. He went with the first name that popped into his head._

“ _Billy. My name is Billy.”_

/

Dipper sat up in bed with a gasp. His head was pounding, and he was parched beyond belief, but neither of those things mattered right now. He got out of bed and scrambled to find his sketchbook and colored pencils in the dim evening light that reluctantly shone in through the triangle-shaped attic window.

He found the art supplies he was looking for, and held them to his chest as he rushed out of the room, and barreled down the stairs. He nearly collided with a panicked looking Pacifica at the bottom of the staircase.

“Dipper, what the hell? Are you okay? I thought you were falling down the stairs!”

Mabel and Wendy walked up behind Pacifica, yawning and rubbing their eyes.

“S’wrong, bro-bro?” asked Mabel. “You have another dream?”

Dipper nodded, and pushed past the girls, making his way to the kitchen table. He sat down and flipped his sketchbook open, his right hand flying over the paper as he rushed to sketch the face in his dream while it was still fresh in his memory.

“I saw him,” he said, never taking his eyes off his drawing. “The person whose perspective I’ve been dreaming from. I had hoped—” he paused and swallowed. “It wasn’t Stan. But I’ve been inside his head—he seems confused and sad, not evil. But that could just be the amnesia. Who knows what he’ll eventually remember. Right now he thinks me and Mabel are his family. He’s coming. He thinks he’s coming home.”

Mabel, Wendy, and Pacifica exchanged worried glances. Dipper’s eyes were wild, and he wasn’t making sense.

“Dipper, slow down,” said Mabel. “Breathe. I know they seem really real, but they’re just dreams.”

Dipper stopped drawing, and looked up at Mabel, hurt in his eyes. “You don’t believe me.” It wasn’t a question. “Even after I told you about all my previous dreams—how it’s like I’m living through someone’s memories. Even after I told you about the warning Ford left me. You think I’m just crazy.”

Mabel bit her lip, and gestured to Dipper’s injured left hand and the stitches on his arm. “Not _crazy_ , but look what you’ve done to yourself, Dip Dop. You’re not well.”

Dipper’s nostrils flared. He looked back down at his sketch and continued drawing.

“Wendy, what about you? Do you think this is all in my head?” Dipper asked, without looking up.

“Dude, look at yourself. You’re acting like one of those possessed people from the Close Encounters movie, who couldn’t stop drawing that mountain thing,” answered Wendy. “Like Mabel said, I don’t think you’re crazy, but you were already having nightmares before you found Ford’s letter, and that just sent you into a tailspin. We don’t even really know what Ford wrote, because the letter was in your pocket when you cut yourself, and now its just illegible paper with your blood all over it.”

The betrayal felt like a knife shoved between Dipper’s ribs. He stopped drawing and looked up at Wendy with tear-filled eyes. “But I _told_ you what the letter said. You think I’m lying?”

“No, dude. I think you’re confused and sick,” Wendy said gently. “Maybe you should consider checking back in to the hospital.” She moved to place her hand over Dipper’s, but he jerked away.

Pacifica had been very quiet this whole time. She stood back behind Dipper’s chair, and watched the face take shape on his sketchbook paper. He turned to her, an unspoken plea in his eyes.

“Paz?” he said softly. He didn’t know if he could handle her thinking he was crazy, too. She’d been with him through everything.

Pacifica reached out and pushed Dipper’s hair out of his eyes. “I believe you,” she said quietly. “How you described your nightmares even before we found Ford’s letter—I agree with you. You weren’t simply dreaming. You were living someone else’s memories. And this is him?” she asked, tapping the sketch with her index finger.

Dipper’s chin quivered as he smiled gratefully up at Pacifica. He turned back toward the drawing, and nodded.

“I don’t know how they did it, but I think Stan and Ford’s experiment to trap Bill in a vessel somehow created a human body for him instead. This is him. He calls himself Billy.”

/

Mabel huffed. “Seriously, Pacifica? My brother needs help, and you’re over here encouraging his delusions?”

“Yeah, what the hell, Northwest?” spat Wendy. “Earlier you were saying Dipper hasn’t been acting like his normal self, and that he’s not mentally healthy. Now you’re playing along with him?”

“Mentally ill and _delusional_ aren’t synonymous,” Pacifica fired back, the heat rising in her cheeks. “I think Dipper is suffering from major depression or something. I don’t think he’s psychotic, like you both obviously do. And I sure as hell am not _playing along_ , Corduroy.”

Pacifica was red-faced and shaking. She’d thought having Mabel and Wendy around would be good for Dipper, but not if they were going to patronize him and call him delusional. She decided to leave the room before she said something she’d regret. She stormed out of the kitchen, and through the front door, slamming it behind her. She sat on the porch steps as twilight painted the sky a deep purple, angry tears slipping down her cheeks.

/

Dipper stared at the face he’d drawn—the face from his dreams. It looked sad. He wondered if the sad expression was simply him projecting his own current mental state on the young man as he drew him, but dismissed the thought. He was certain that this was the expression he’d caught on Billy’s face in the side mirror of the truck.

Angry hissing pulled Dipper out of his thoughts. Mabel and Wendy were standing just outside the kitchen door, probably discussing their ire with Pacifica for ‘encouraging Dipper’s delusions.’

Dipper sighed. He was disappointed and hurt that Mabel and Wendy would so easily disregard the weird explanation for the mundane—this was Gravity Falls, after all. They’d all experienced Weirdmageddon and lived to tell the tale. Why, then, were they so eager to believe that Dipper was losing his mind, rather than believe that Ford had seriously messed up some crazy, magic experiment, and somehow created Bill his own human body?

Dipper stood and ripped the drawing from his sketchbook, and attached it to the fridge with a magnet. He scooted past Mabel and Wendy without looking either of them in the eye. Mabel reached out to touch his arm, but he pulled quickly away, and went to join Pacifica on the porch steps. He didn’t have anything to say to people who thought he was crazy.

/

Pacifica heard the front door creak open, and looked behind her to see Dipper silhouetted against the light from the hallway. She lifted her hand in greeting. He nodded to her, pulled the door shut, and sat beside her on the steps as the sky darkened and the stars began to appear.

After several moments of amicable silence, Dipper finally spoke.

“Thank you,” he said softly. “For believing me. And for standing up for me.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied. “Does this mean you’ve finally given up on the idea that I’m being nice to you out of pity, or whatever?”

There was a hint of laughter in Dipper’s voice when he replied. “Oh, yeah. I gave up on that idea when I opened my eyes in the hospital and saw you standing there with this pitiful look on your face, still wearing clothes covered in my blood. You wouldn’t ruin your clothes over someone you didn’t actually like, right?”

Pacifica rolled her eyes. “Jeez, was I really so much of a bitch before that you think I’d have let someone I wasn’t fond of _bleed to death_ to keep from getting blood on my outfit?”

“Well...” Dipper said with a shrug. Then he chuckled. “Nah, I guess you were never quite _that_ bad.”

Without any warning, Dipper suddenly threw his arms around Pacifica and hugged her tightly. She jerked, startled, then smiled and gently rubbed his back.

“Why, I never would have made you out to be so free with your affections, Mr. Pines,” Pacifica said, imitating her mother’s snobby, upper-crust accent.

Dipper’s laugh was muffled against her shoulder. He looked up and smiled. “Actually, Ms. Northwest,” he said, trying his best to sound posh, “I am not at all free with my affections. Rather, I am quite exclusive with them.” He bent at the waist and performed a mock-bow, with a flourish. “You’re welcome.” He waggled his eyebrows at her for extra effect.

Pacifica tried to keep a straight face, and failed miserably. She burst into laughter, and leaned into Dipper’s shoulder. She actually snorted, which elicited another peal of laughter from her. She stopped laughing abruptly, however, when she heard the front door open behind them.

“What’s so funny?” asked Mabel, standing in the doorway. “I feel like I’m missing out.”

Upon hearing his sister’s voice, Dipper’s posture changed immediately. His shoulders sank, and he stared down at his feet. Pacifica could actually _see_ how betrayed he felt by Mabel.

“Nothing,” Dipper answered his sister, his voice hollow. He stood and turned back toward the house. “I’m tired. I think I’ll go to bed now.”

Mabel frowned at him. “You should eat something, first. Wendy and I just ordered pizza. It should be here in like twenty minutes.”

Dipper shook his head. “Not hungry. ‘Scuse me.”

Mabel stepped aside, and Dipper brushed past her, briefly turning to murmur “’Night, Paz,” before trudging slowly up the stairs.

Mabel stared after him. “What’s his problem?” she muttered, once he was out of earshot. Pacifica felt her jaw literally drop.

“Excuse me? Are you for real, right now?” she asked, incredulous. “What’s _his problem_?” She stood, and propped her hands on her hips. “Oh, I don’t know. Probably something along the lines of: he’s severely depressed, he’s grieving the loss of the Stans, and something freaky is happening involving a former demonic triangle—but his sister and best friend don’t believe him, and are saying he’s delusional. _That_ might be his problem.”

Mabel pressed her lips together in a thin line. “I think you’re just pretending to believe him because you finally realized how awesome my brother is, and you want to get with him.”

Pacifica opened and closed her mouth, too pissed to form a coherent sentence. Finally she took a deep breath, and said slowly, “I think Dipper will be okay without me tonight, since you and Wendy are here. I’m just going to grab my stuff from inside, then head home.”

Mabel gave Pacifica a curt nod, and waved her inside before shutting the door behind her. “That would probably be best.”

Pacifica headed to the living room and grabbed her book bag. On her way out, she passed the kitchen, where Wendy and Mabel were talking quietly.

“—ambulance tonight would be best,” Wendy was saying. “He wouldn’t go with us if we tried to drive him, he’d know—”

They were going to try and have Dipper committed against his will.

Pacifica had to warn him. She sat her book bag down and tried to make it up the stairs without attracting any attention.

“I thought you said you were leaving?”

Pacifica winced. She turned and looked down at Mabel. “I need to use the bathroom. If that’s not a problem.”

Mabel frowned, but nodded. “Make it quick.”

When she got to the top of the stairs, Pacifica turned to make sure Mabel wasn’t still watching her, then, slowly opened Dipper’s door, trying to keep the hinges from squeaking. She tiptoed into his room, and then quietly pulled the door shut behind her. She blinked, trying to adjust her eyes to the dark.

“Um, who goes there?” Dipper’s voice whispered from the darkness.

“Oh, good, you’re not asleep yet,” Pacifica said softly.

“Paz?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” she replied. His room was pitch dark. She held her hands in front of her, and slowly walked in the direction his voice came from. Her hands touched something warm, and she jerked them back. Dipper had stood, and she’d apparently just ran her hands over his bare chest.

“Did you come to sleep with me?” asked Dipper. He quickly followed that question up with “I mean, to try and keep my nightmares, or dreams, or whatever away?”

Pacifica shook her head, then realized he might not be able to see her either.

“No,” she said. “Not that I don’t want to, but… Dipper I was getting ready to leave, and I overheard Wendy saying something about an ambulance tonight, and not driving you because you’d figure it out—I think they’re planning to have you involuntarily committed tonight.”

“Shit,” muttered Dipper. “The thing that sucks is that I can’t be _too_ angry with them, because I know they’re just worried about me, and they mean well—but still. Ugh. What should I do?”

“Well,” Pacifica began hesitantly, “I can pull my car out toward the road so they think I’ve gone, and wait for you to sneak out. My apartment is small, but you’re more than welcome to stay with me. If you want.”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll try to be quick about it. I’ll text you if I’m having trouble sneaking past them, or whatever.”

“Right,” said Pacifica. “Okay. I’ll be waiting out by the road, then. Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

Pacifica quietly slipped back out of his room, then crossed the hall and flushed the toilet and ran the tap for a few seconds, so Mabel and Wendy would hopefully not suspect that she did anything other than use the bathroom upstairs.

She trudged back down the staircase, and grabbed her book bag from the floor. She stuck her head into the living room, where Mabel and Wendy were watching TV.

“Bye, guys. If—if anything happens with Dipper, you have my number,” Pacifica said. She hoped the dim lighting from the TV would keep them from noticing her red face.

“Okay. Later Paz,” said Wendy. Mabel simply flapped a hand at her.

Pacifica let herself out and got in her car. She slowly pulled from the Mystery Shack parking lot, and stopped when she was nearly to the road. Her heart was pounding—partially because she was helping Dipper sneak out and avoid getting stuck in a mental hospital, but also because Dipper was going to be spending the night at her apartment. She’d never brought anyone to her apartment before.

A sudden rapping on the passenger side front window startled Pacifica, and she turned to see Dipper staring at her wide-eyed, motioning for her to unlock the door. She did, and he threw the door open, jumped in, slammed the door, and cried “Go, go, go!”

His panic was contagious. Pacifica slammed her foot on the gas, and her tires spun and kicked up gravel before they finally got enough grip to send the car flying down the road.

Dipper was breathing heavily, as he buckled his seatbelt. Pacifica kept her eyes on the road, but just before she had hit the gas, she had glanced quickly at Dipper. She had a question for him now.

“Dipper?”

“Yeah, Paz?” he wheezed, still trying to regulate his breathing.

“Um. Why are you wearing nothing but boxers?”

Dipper sighed. “You noticed that, huh?”

“Uh-huh.”

/

Dipper had been frantically trying to pack a bag when Mabel had entered his room without knocking. She had asked him what he was doing, and, unable to come up with a good answer, Dipper panicked and ran, barefoot, clad only in the boxers he’d worn to bed. He’d thought to grab his phone, but that was it.

Pacifica burst into a fit of giggles when he explained the situation to her. “Way to be stealthy, genius,” she chuckled, wiping away tears of mirth.

Dipper grinned and wiggled his toes. He loved hearing Pacifica laugh, even if it was at his expense.

“I mean, it’s not like you haven’t already seen me naked,” he said with a shrug. “Although, um, I would like to point out, in case it ever is of interest to you, that when you saw me naked, I had _just_ stepped out of a cold shower. Very cold. Icy.”

Pacifica raised an eyebrow and nodded. “Duly noted. For future reference. Maybe.”

“Right,” said Dipper firmly.

Unsure of what else to say, they rode in silence for several minutes, before Pacifica pulled up in front of a stately old Victorian home.

“You live here?” Dipper asked, confused. “I thought I heard you say apartment.”

“Yes and yes,” said Pacifica, as put the car in park. “It’s split into apartments. I’m on the top floor.”

She pulled the keys from the ignition, and turned to grab her book bag from the back seat before getting out. When she turned toward him, Dipper threw his arms dramatically over his chest.

“My modesty!” he cried.

Pacifica rolled her eyes. “Oh, speaking of modesty, I should probably warn you—I sleep in the buff,” she said casually, as she climbed out of the car.

“Wh—oh—really?” stammered Dipper, as he shut his door.

“No, not really,” Pacifica said. She stuck her tongue out at him, then waved for him to follow her. As she unlocked the front door to the building, she turned to him and grinned.

“I do, however, only have one bed, and it’s a twin. You better not hog the covers.”


	9. Chapter 9

 

“Wow, your apartment is _really_ small,” Dipper observed, after Pacifica unlocked the door and ushered him inside. Her “apartment” was more like a bedroom with a small kitchenette in one corner, and a tiny connected bathroom.

 

Pacifica shrugged. “I don’t need a lot of space. It’s just me.”

 

Dipper looked around for seating, and pulled a chair out from the tiny cafe table that sat against the wall, next to the kitchenette.

 

“What’s that about, anyway?” asked Dipper. “I mean, I know your family doesn’t own the big manor anymore, but I’ve seen their house in town. It’s a McMansion, and there’s obviously enough room for you there—why’d you move out?”

 

Pacifica sighed and tossed her book bag to the floor next to the table, before sitting down herself. “I got kicked out.”

 

Dipper frowned and rubbed the back of his neck. “Why did they kick you out?”

 

“Because I chose to decline admission to the colleges I’d gotten into,” said Pacifica. “I want to take a gap year and focus on myself and becoming healthier and happier. They feel like I’m wasting my time, and being lazy. Their plans for me are: Ivy League school, major in business, internships, MBA, accumulate wealth. However, they never consulted with me about these plans, and I’m not really a fan.”

 

“Huh,” muttered Dipper thoughtfully. “What would you rather do?”

 

“Well, that’s one of the reasons I wanted to take a gap year,” replied Pacifica. “I wanted time to really think about it. I’m actually considering not going to college at all, now. My yoga instructor has been encouraging me to think about teaching yoga. She says I’m a natural. She’s even offered to let me teach one of the studio’s beginner classes this fall. I think I’m going to take her up on it.”

 

Before Dipper had a chance to respond, the My Little Pony theme song blared from Pacifica’s pocket. She sighed and pulled it out, silencing it.

 

“It’s Mabel,” she said. “Should I answer?”

 

“I guess,” said Dipper. “My phone is off because I knew she’d blow it up… you can at least tell her I’m safe so she’s not freaking out.”

 

Pacifica nodded and swiped the screen to take the call.

 

“Hey Mabel.”

 

“Pacifica, have you seen Dipper? He ran off from the Mystery Shack in just his underpants when I tried to talk to him a little bit ago. I think he might be having a psychotic break!”

 

Pacifica had to pause and take a breath to avoid laughing when she answered Mabel. “I’ve seen him,” she said, her voice even. “Don’t worry, he’s not having a psychotic break.”

 

“How do _you_ know?” asked Mabel. “Since when are you a mental health expert?”

 

“I know because he’s with me right now, and he’s acting perfectly sane,” replied Pacifica, ignoring Mabel’s jab about her being a mental health expert.

 

“What?!” squawked Mabel. “Put him on the phone!”

 

Pacifica looked at Dipper with her eyebrows raised. She covered the mouthpiece of the phone, and said quietly “She wants to talk to you—are you okay to talk to her?”

 

Dipper nodded, and put his hand out for the phone. Instead of putting it to his ear, he sat it on the table and pressed the speakerphone button.

 

“Hey Mabes,” he said sullenly.

 

“Dipper, what the hell?!”

 

“Um. I’m not sure how to answer that? What the hell what?”

 

“You ran off into the night in nothing but your _underpants_ ,” said Mabel. “Why?”

 

Dipper shrugged. “I panicked. I meant to run off into the night with clothes on. I was in the process of packing a bag when you interrupted me, and I got all fighty-or-flighty.”

 

“Wait, you were planning on running away?” asked Mabel. It was difficult to tell if she was more confused or angry.

 

Dipper sighed. “Yes, Mabel. Not like, _away_ away. Just to stay with Paz for awhile. She heard you and Wendy talking about having me involuntarily committed.”

 

“Shit,” Mabel muttered quietly. “Look, Dip-Dop, we’re not trying to be the bad guys here. Wendy and I are really worried about you. After the way you acted this afternoon, we talked, and we’re afraid you might hurt yourself again. You need help. If mom and dad weren’t on vacation in Europe, I’d have them come up here bring you home.”

 

Dipper ran a hand through his hair, and bit his lower lip. “I know you guys mean well. Really, I’m not even mad. Okay, I’m a little mad—but I know you guys are worried about me, and what you’re doing, you’re doing out of love. And I can see where the way I acted this afternoon might have freaked you out. But Mabel. I’m. Not. Crazy.”

 

“But—”

 

“No buts, sis. I know its been awhile since anything seriously weird has happened to us here during the summers, but remember, this is _Gravity Falls_. Weird is attracted to this place. Our Grunkles are dead, and Ford left me a note specifically saying that I should be prepared for the worst if they failed to come back from their latest trip on the Stan O’ War. He—he said he was sorry, though, Mabel. He and Grunkle Stan were just trying to do what they thought was the right thing.”

 

There was a scuffle, followed by a staticky noise coming through the phone’s speaker, and it was Wendy who spoke this time.

 

“Hey dork. Mabel is crying. You didn’t say something mean to her, did you?”

 

Dipper’s face fell. Pacifica laid a hand on his, and spoke.

 

“Hey Wendy, it’s Paz. You’re on speaker. Dipper didn’t say anything mean. He mentioned their Grunkles, which might have set Mabel off.”

 

Wendy huffed. “Okay. Well… listen, dork—please come back. We should have talked to you more before jumping to trying to have you taken for a mental health hold. I’m sorry.”

 

Dipper sniffed. “I forgive you, Wen. Both of you. But I’m going to stay with Paz, at least for tonight. I honestly feel pretty betrayed that neither of you believe me, or would at least consider believing me—rather than just jumping to me being delusional or psychotic or whatever. You survived Weirdmageddon with me. You _know_ that in Gravity Falls, Occam’s razor is usually reversed. Please believe the weird, Wendy. I’m not crazy.”

 

Wendy was quiet for a few seconds. “I don’t think you’re crazy, Dipper,” she said finally, with a sigh. “And you’re right—the weird explanation is true more often than the mundane in Gravity Falls. Being away at college, I guess I just got used to the rest of the world’s version of Occam’s razor. Can we meet up at Greasy’s for breakfast tomorrow, and talk about what’s really going on?”

 

Dipper glanced up at Pacifica, his eyes hopeful. She nodded.

 

“Yeah, Paz and I will be there,” said Dipper, with a small smile. “Is ten okay? I’d like to try and sleep in a bit if I can.”

 

“Ten sounds good,” agreed Wendy. “We’ll see you dorks in the morning.”

 

“Okay. Give Mabel a hug for me?”

 

“Sure thing. Bye guys.”

 

“Bye,” echoed Dipper and Pacifica simultaneously. Pacifica picked up her phone and ended the call.

 

“Well, that actually went okay,” said Dipper. He yawned and stretched. “Do you think they’ll actually listen to me this time?”

 

“I hope so,” said Pacifica, standing up and crossing the room to her dresser. She opened a drawer and pulled out her pajamas. “Because from your latest dream, ‘Billy’ seems to be making his way here. If it was a memory of his, we don’t know how long ago it was from. He might be close.”

 

“Oh. That’s...that’s comforting,” said Dipper, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

 

Pacifica winked at him, then shut herself in the bathroom to change into her pjs.

 

While she was getting ready for bed, Dipper turned to look at the bed situation. A twin bed was pushed into the far corner of the room, next to a window. One side was flush with the wall, probably to help maximize floor space in the tiny room. He got up, and crossed over to the bed, sitting on the edge of the mattress. The mattress at least seemed of better quality than his old, squeaking and sagging mattress in the attic of the Mystery Shack.

 

The bathroom door opened, and Pacifica stepped out, clad in a thin, pink camisole, and pink and white striped shorts.

 

“So,” she said, eyeing Dipper as he bounced lightly on the edge of the mattress. “Do you want the inside or the outside?”

 

Dipper’s brows knit together in confusion. “Huh?”

 

“Do you want to sleep against the wall, or on the outside edge of the bed?”

 

“Oh.” Dipper shrugged. “You pick spots. It’s your bed.”

 

Pacifica rolled her eyes. “I’ll be against the wall, I guess. I normally sleep close to the wall anyway.”

 

“Works for me,” said Dipper. He climbed in the bed, and drew the fluffy white comforter up to his chin, a cheeky grin on his face. “Cozy.”

 

Pacifica turned off the light, and made her way over to the bed by the orange-hued glow that shone through the window, courtesy of a nearby street lamp. She stopped next to the bed and put her hands on her hips.

 

“So what, I have to climb over you?” she asked, laughter in her voice.

 

Dipper raised a single eyebrow, and quirked his mouth up in a half-smile. He lifted his hands and clasped them behind his head. “It would probably be easier than climbing under me,” he joked.

 

“Dork,” muttered Pacifica. She began to climb over him, but ended up collapsing on top of him, after miscalculating the amount of momentum she needed in order to swing her other leg over him. She quickly rolled off him, and turned to face the wall, pulling the comforter up over her head.

 

“Oof,” said Dipper. “You know, for someone who is super flexible and does yoga, that was rather clumsy of you.”

 

“Shut up and go to sleep,” she said, her voice muffled from the covers. She was glad Dipper couldn’t see her flaming cheeks.

 

“Yes, ma’am,” said Dipper, with a sigh. He rolled over so he was facing out toward the room. He attempted scoot as far to his side of the bed as possible, to avoid touching Pacifica. For all the flirting they’d been doing, in the back of his mind, a voice kept whispering to him that she didn’t really like him, that she was only pretending to flirt with him out of pity. That she’d rolled immediately off him after falling on top of him served as the voice’s evidence.

 

As he drifted off to sleep, Dipper tried to ignore the voice, and instead, keep in mind the pleasant, if only momentary, gentle weight of Pacifica’s body pressing him into the mattress.

 

/

 

Pacifica woke up to something poking her in the small of her back. Disoriented, she shifted, trying to figure out what it was.As she shifted, she heard a soft, low groan from behind her.

 

Oh, shit. Right. Dipper was in her bed. And he’d apparently rolled over to face her in his sleep. His breathing was deep and even, so it seemed like poking Pacifica with his morning wood was unintentional. However unintentional it may have been, the soft groan coming from the sleeping teen had sent a wave of warmth through Pacifica’s body, and left her nether regions pleasantly tingling, and damp.

 

Pacifica wished she was able to cause Dipper to groan like that while he was awake. However, he’d been through so much lately—she didn’t want to take advantage of him while he was vulnerable, and _definitely_ not while he was asleep. She decided to try and get out of bed without waking Dipper up, so he wouldn’t be embarrassed.

 

Moving was difficult. Dipper had rolled to the center of the bed, so Pacifica was pushed all the way up against the wall. She decided her best bet would be to try and slink down the wall to the foot of the bed, and climb out from there. She began slowly pulling herself down the wall, but the movement caused a sharp intake of breath from Dipper, followed by a whimper.

 

Pacifica stopped moving. Her heart was racing, there was a warm sensation beginning to throb between her legs, and she was pretty sure she was about to soak through her PJ shorts.

 

She took a deep breath, and bit her lip. Maybe it would just be easier to stay in bed, and pretend that she was asleep. She tried to quickly pull herself back up to her pillow, hoping the movement wouldn’t wake Dipper.

 

It may not have woken him up, but instead of a groan or whimper, he let loose a full-out, from-the-pit-of-his-belly moan.

 

Pacifica took a shuddering breath, and bit her fist, trying to calm her pounding heart. That moan was the sexiest thing she had ever heard. She had been attracted to boys before, but she had never felt this level of _need_ in her body. It was fierce, and primal, and she fought the urge to roll over and throw herself at the sleeping Dipper.

 

She couldn’t do that to him, though. She didn’t even know if he really wanted it. After all, it was morning wood, and he was still asleep.

 

Pacifica had to do _something_ , though. The want, the _need_ —she felt like she was going to explode with lust.

 

She couldn’t hold back. She stuck her hand down the front of her shorts, and slid her fingers between her puffy, dripping pussy lips. She had never been that wet before. God, she wanted to fuck Dipper.

 

She closed her eyes, and began worrying her clit, pressing against it with a deep pressure. She tried her best to not moan, but her breath came out in pants and whimpers.

 

She imagined that it was Dipper between her legs, using his fingers and tongue to work her into a frenzy. She let slip a moan, as she pictured his head between her legs, looking up at her from under his eyelashes as he teased her with his tongue.

 

She wanted more, though. She wanted to feel him inside her, filling her. She slid two fingers into her pussy, keeping her thumb pressed against her clit. She pumped the fingers in and out, faster and faster, as she rubbed her thumb in circles over her sensitive nub.

 

Getting caught up in the sensations, Pacifica began bucking her hips in rhythm with her fingers. Her movement elicited another low moan from Dipper, and that pushed her over the edge.

 

A wave of heat in her core shook her, and she felt her pussy clamp tightly around her fingers, pulsating rapidly. Pacifica made a fist with her free hand and pressed it against her mouth, trying to hold in a loud moan. A strangled cry escaped her throat, and she felt Dipper jerk against her, as he let out a deep groan.

 

Pacifica wasn’t sure if she’d woken him up. She almost hoped she had. The warmth in her core spread throughout her body, and Pacifica withdrew her hand from her shorts. Her fingers were slick and sticky, and smelled of sex. She wiped them on the sheets, as she tried to slow her breathing. She felt her whole body relax, and she sank down into the mattress with a sigh. She still wanted Dipper, but that had taken the edge off.

 

She smiled to herself as she closed her eyes, thinking to try and get a little more sleep. He was still rock hard against her back.

 

/

 

Dipper moaned low, and slowly opened his eyes. He was hard, and something warm had rubbed up against him.

 

Pacifica. He was in her bed. And his dick was poking her in the back.

 

Dipper was only momentarily embarrassed, however, until he realized what Pacifica was doing. She lay on her side facing the wall, one leg slightly raised under the covers. She was making soft panting and whimpering noises, as she gently bucked her hips, faster and faster, until her body suddenly tensed up, and her fist flew to her mouth. She moaned against her fist as her whole body shook. A cry, loud enough that her fist didn’t muffle it, escaped her straining throat.

 

Dipper nearly lost it. He jerked involuntarily and groaned loudly. He could feel his dick throbbing, its tip damp with pre-cum.

 

He felt lightheaded, and realized it was because he was holding his breath. He took a quiet, shaky breath as Pacifica pulled her hand out from under the blanket. The tangy, musky odor of her sex invaded his nostrils, and he had the sudden urge to suck her juices from her fingers.

 

Dipper closed his eyes and bit his lower lip. He heard the rustle of sheets, and then a long, deep sigh. He was harder than he thought should be physically possible, still pressed up against Pacifica’s lower back, as her breathing slowed and she relaxed.

 

Once he was sure Pacifica had fallen back asleep, Dipper laid, wide-eyed, staring at the wall above her head for close to a half hour. He was incredibly turned on, but he didn’t want to bother her. For one, he didn’t want her to know that he had watched and listened to her masturbate. She’d probably think he was a creeper. Two, if Pacifica was that horny, and she was actually interested in Dipper, she could have easily rolled over and engaged him. She hadn’t.

 

Dipper hoped his hard-on would eventually go away. And it started to. But then Pacifica would move, or he would catch a strong whiff of her musk—and it would be back to square one. Finally Dipper gave up, and decided a cold shower was in order.

 

He tried to roll back toward the outside of the bed and throw the covers off himself in one swift motion. Once out of bed, he quickly crossed the room and entered the tiny bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind him.

 

/

 

Pacifica woke to the sound of running water. She glanced at her alarm clock. It was 8:30. She yawned and stretched, sitting up.

 

She was somewhat disappointed. Getting herself off wasn’t the same as getting fucked, which was what she truly wanted—specifically, she wanted to be fucked by Dipper. She really had thought she’d woken Dipper up toward the end, and hoped he would have been turned on by hearing her pleasuring herself, and would want to assist her. Apparently he was a very heavy sleeper.

 

The shower cut off, and a few moments later, Dipper stepped out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped tightly around his waist.

 

“Mornin’ sunshine,” he said with a grin, nodding to Pacifica. “I, uh, have an issue I hope you might be able to help me with.”

 

Pacifica’s heart leapt, and her nethers instantaneously became warm and tingly. “Oh yeah?” she said coyly, arching an eyebrow at him. “And what might that be?”

 

Dipper’s face turned a deep red color, and he pulled the towel more tightly around his waist. “Clothes,” he managed to say. “Or rather, my lack thereof. We’re supposed to meet Mabel and Wendy at Greasy’s, and all I have are my boxers.”

 

“Oh,” said Pacifica, trying not to sound disappointed. “I probably have a pair of old sweats and a t-shirt that would fit you. Let me look.”

 

She hopped from the bed, and, with her legs slightly spread, bent over to open her bottom dresser drawer. She knew exactly where the clothes she was looking for were, but she pretended that they took a bit to find. She hoped that the damp spot in the crotch of her shorts was clearly visible. She was going to try and throw out as many hints to Dipper as possible. She didn’t want to push him into anything while he was so mentally fragile, so she hoped he would pick up on the hints, and if he was interested, make the first move.

 

“Oh, here they are!” Pacifica finally said brightly, grabbing a pair of black sweatpants and a men’s large-size t-shirt she had gotten from a fun run once a couple years ago, because the event organizers had run out of her size. She snapped her legs together and popped up, turning quickly on her heel to hand Dipper the clothes.

 

Dipper held the towel around his waist with white knuckles, using his free hand to grab the clothes. He swallowed hard, and mumbled a quick “Thank you,” before darting back into the bathroom and shutting the door.

 

Pacifica smiled to herself. She was pretty sure she was having the intended effect on Dipper. She just wished he would act on it soon.

 

/

 

Shortly before ten, Pacifica and Dipper entered Greasy’s. Dipper didn’t mind wearing Pacifica’s baggy black sweatpants and fun run t-shirt, but the too-small flip-flops he wore weren’t particularly comfortable.

 

“Remind me if I ever run off in my underpants again, that I should at least bring shoes,” he joked, as he and Pacifica sat on the same side of an empty booth, and he slid the offending footwear off with a sigh.

 

Pacifica grinned at him. “But they’re so cute on you! They even match your cast!” she said, tapping the hot pink wrapping covering the plaster.

 

“Meh. It’s not really my color,” Dipper said, with a flap of his hand. “Oh, hey, there’s Mabel and Wendy!” He waved them over to their booth.

 

“You seem to be in a surprisingly good mood, bro-bro,” observed Mabel as she took her seat across from her brother.

 

“Well, I am,” he said with a shrug. “I got a good, dreamless night’s sleep last night, and my sister and best friend are willing to believe that I might not actually be crazy. It’s amazing what _not_ being accused of being delusional will do for one’s attitude.”

 

Wendy looked ashamed. “I really am sorry about that, Dipper,” she said. “I think a lot of it is that every fiber in my being wants it to not be true—the idea that the evil Dorito is in human form and walking among us—it freaking terrifies me, dude.”

 

Mabel nodded. She reached into her pocket, and pulled out a folded piece of paper. She unfolded it and spread it flat on the table. It was the picture of Billy that Dipper had drawn yesterday after his dream.

 

“Okay,” she said, tapping the picture. “Say Billy really is human Bill. What I don’t get is how you’re connected to him in such a way that you’re seeing his memories. It doesn’t make sense.”

 

Dipper shrugged. “I wish Ford had actually explained exactly what their experiment entailed. It may have something to do with the spell they used. But that’s just speculation.”

 

“I have a thought,” said Pacifica hesitantly. “Dipper, you’re the only person still alive...that we know of, at least, who has been possessed by Bill. Maybe that caused you to have a mental connection with him when he became human. Maybe that’s also why he seems to think you’re his family.”

 

Dipper nodded. “I guess that’s as plausible as anything. And now that we know Billy’s on his way to pay us a visit—oh, hi Susan!”

 

Lazy Susan had approached their booth while he was talking. She looked down at the drawing, a twinkle in her good eye.

 

“Well, who is this handsome devil?” she asked, smiling.

 

“Uh,” said Dipper. “A friend? Of ours?”

 

“Oh, isn’t that nice,” she said. “He even _looks_ like a Billy, doesn’t he?”

 

Four blank stares answered her. Susan shrugged, and took their orders.

 

After she had bustled back to the kitchen, the group began their discussion again in earnest.

 

“Okay, so you said Grunkle Ford thought that Billy...” Mabel made a face, “would try and come back to the Mystery Shack so he can rebuild the portal?”

 

Dipper nodded. “He said I should go through his old books and try and learn all the offensive and defensive spells that I can. But… well, something bothers me about all this.”

 

“What, dude?” asked Wendy, fiddling with a napkin.

 

“During these dreams, I’ve had his thoughts, felt his emotions, and have seen everything through Billy’s eyes,” explained Dipper. “In these dreams, I _am_ him. And I don’t sense any evil in him at all. No evil plans. No schemes. He genuinely seems lost and lonely, and like he just wants to find his home and family.”

 

Mabel shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “And he thinks _we’re_ his family.”

 

Dipper nodded. “If he finds us, he’s no doubt going to have questions about his origins, due to his amnesia.

 

“So he doesn’t even know who he is,” said Pacifica. “What if remembering will trigger him to go all demonic and evil again?”

 

Dipper bit his lip and looked at his hands. “I don’t know. The experiment—spell—whatever, that Ford was trying to do—it was supposed to make him harmless. If he’s pure human, maybe he doesn’t have all those freaky demon powers.”

 

“Ugh. The pure human thing,” said Wendy, sitting back and leaning her head against the booth seat. “That probably means it would be like, morally reprehensible to kill him?”

 

“I, for one, am against murder,” said Mabel. “But I think we should arm ourselves, in case crazy demon Bill is still in there somewhere, and comes out to play. If he attacks us, I don’t have a problem with killing in self-defense.”

 

“Right,” said Dipper. He didn’t have a chance to say anything else, because Susan returned to the table with their breakfast.

 

As the group ate, they decided to continue their discussion at the Mystery Shack. If Dipper’s dream yesterday was accurate, Billy was on his way North, and they had no idea how close he might be to finding them.

 


	10. Chapter 10

While Dipper, Mabel, Wendy, and Pacifica were finishing their breakfast at Greasy’s, dark gray clouds began to churn in the sky above Gravity Falls. A light rain began falling as they paid for their meal. By the time they arrived back at the Mystery Shack, the sky had opened up, and heavy rain cascaded down in fat drops. Pacifica parked her car next to Wendy’s old pick-up truck, and she and Dipper made a mad dash for the front door. They only had to run maybe three meters from the car to the door, but by the time they shut the door behind themselves, they were both completely soaked.

 

Mabel and Wendy had arrived back at the Shack only minutes before them, and were sitting in the living room. They were perfectly dry.

 

“You two look... slightly damp,” commented Mabel, with a grin. Wendy snickered.

 

Pacifica crossed her arms over her chest and shivered. “And you two look completely dry. What sorcery is this?”

 

“Umbrellas, dudes.” Wendy nodded toward the door behind them, and they turned to see two dripping umbrellas leaning against the wall next to it.

 

Dipper turned to Pacifica, water slowly dripping off the tip of his nose. “Why didn’t we think of that?”

 

“I have an umbrella in my back seat, too. Ugh,” Pacifica said, shaking her head. “We are... not smart.” She shivered again and rubbed her arms.

 

“Well, I was planning on changing clothes anyway,” said Dipper with a shrug. “And you look miserable. How about _I_ loan _you_ some clothes this time?”

 

“Yes please,” Pacifica said, nodding.

 

Dipper made for the stairs and waved to her to follow him. They clomped up the steps, leaving a small trail of water in their wake.

 

“Okay,” said Dipper, as he entered the attic bedroom, and sat his suitcase on the bed. “I haven’t unpacked yet, so what I have is probably wrinkly, but at least it’s dry.”

 

Pacifica sat down on the edge of Mabel’s old bed and leaned back on her hands. “Dry is all I care about at the moment,” she said, grinning. “It’s not like I’m trying to impress anyone.”

 

Dipper scoffed lightly. “Not even me?” He found a pair of flannel pajama pants and a random t-shirt, and turned to toss them to Pacifica.

 

“Why would I need to impress you?” asked Pacifica, tilting her head to the side and batting her eyelashes. “You’ve already gotten into my pants, and I’m about to get into yours.”

 

Dipper opened and shut his mouth without speaking, unable to think of a good comeback. He grinned bashfully down at the floor, and rubbed the back of his neck. Pacifica chuckled softly. She stood up and turned her back to Dipper.

 

“You better not peek, Pines,” she said, as she began to peel off her rain-drenched tank top.

 

“Oh, okay, you’re changing in here,” Dipper muttered quickly as he turned on his heel. He’d have liked to peek, but Pacifica had specifically asked him not to. He closed his eyes and bit his lower lip as he heard the soft sound of wet fabric landing on the hardwood floor.

 

“Oh, ugh, even my bra and underwear are soaked,” Pacifica lamented loudly.

 

Dipper unintentionally made a low noise that sounded like “Hnnngh,” and tried to cover it up by coughing. He opened his eyes and pulled off his borrowed shirt, his hands shaking as he grabbed a t-shirt from his suitcase at random. He was in the process of yanking the dry garment over his head when he heard the soft plop of wet fabric hitting the floor again, this time right next to his feet. He pulled the shirt on, and glanced down. At his feet lay a lacy purple bra and matching panties.

 

Dipper took a slow, deep breath—in through his nose, out through his mouth. This tactic normally served to calm him down, but from anxiety, not from being horny. It had no effect on the boner that was pitching a tent in Pacifica’s old sweatpants.

 

Dipper grunted, and grabbed a clean pair of jeans from his suitcase. “I gotta—bathroom,” he mumbled awkwardly, as he turned and swiftly exited his bedroom, holding the jeans in front of his crotch, and not taking his eyes off the floor.

 

He crossed the hall and entered the bathroom, quickly shutting the door behind him. He leaned his head against the door frame, and groaned softly. He had _really_ wanted to peek.

 

/

 

Pacifica pulled up Dipper’s pajama pants with a sigh, stretching out the waistband, and letting the elastic snap back against her skin. The boy could apparently not take a hint. She had literally thrown her bra and panties at his feet, and he’d fled the room. She had been standing, facing him, with only his t-shirt on, and he’d walked right past her—without even glancing up. Now that they were once again on good terms with Mabel and Wendy, she didn’t know when the next time she’d be able to get him alone would be.

 

Dipper not taking her very _obvious_ hints was concerning to Pacifica. It made her wonder if she’d been wrong about him finding her attractive. She’d never worried about her looks before—she knew she was hot. But what if that wasn’t enough for Dipper? What if he had a ‘type,’ and Pacifica just wasn’t _it_? She knew he used to have a thing for Wendy. Did he only like tall, skinny girls with red hair and freckles?

 

“Ugh, chill Northwest,” she muttered to herself. She was getting worked up over a boy. That had never happened before, and it was weird.

 

Pacifica shook her head and bent down to pick up her wet garments. She crossed the hall and knocked on the bathroom door.

 

“Don’t come in!” cried Dipper.

 

“I wasn’t going to just barge in, Pines,” said Pacifica, some of her old snark returning to her voice. “That’s why I knocked.”

 

“Oh, uh, okay,” said Dipper. He sounded out of breath. “Wh-what did you want?”

 

“I thought I’d hang my wet clothes over the side of the bathtub or something, so they can drip dry,” answered Pacifica. “I didn’t want to just leave them in a pile on your floor.”

 

“R-right,” said Dipper. “Of course. Um, just lay them on the floor in front of the door and I’ll hang them up when I’m, uh, done in here.”

 

Pacifica lifted an eyebrow. “You gonna be long?”

 

“N-no, not much longer,” Dipper stammered. “Y-you can go hang with Mabel and Wendy. I’ll be down in a couple minutes.”

 

“If you say so, Pines,” said Pacifica. She dropped her wet clothes in front of the door, making sure that her panties were on top of the pile. She was going to get through to him somehow.

 

/

 

Dipper opened the bathroom door, and stepped on Pacifica’s clothes. He’d forgotten she had left them there. With shaking hands, he picked up the purple panties. He had to resist the urge to sniff them. It felt like that would be crossing some kind of pervy line. Never mind that’d he’d just jacked off in the bathroom, turned on by the thought of Pacifica wearing his clothes with nothing underneath.

 

Dipper groaned softly, then shook his head to try and clear it of smutty thoughts. He hung Pacifica’s clothes over the edge of the bathtub, then went to his room to grab the wet garments he had borrowed from Pacifica, doing the same with them.

 

He took a deep breath, and glanced at himself in the bathroom mirror. His damp curls were sticking out at odd angles. He attempted to run his fingers through his hair to neaten it, but stopped when his fingers got caught in the tangles. His cheeks were very red due to his recent...exertions… but there wasn’t much he could do about that.

 

He turned to leave, quickly glancing back at himself in the mirror one last time before turning out the lights.

 

Just as the bathroom went dark, Dipper realized that his reflection had changed. It had dark blond hair covered by a deep red knit cap, a strong, square jawline, and piercing yellow eyes. It was Billy.

 

Dipper yelped and immediately turned the light back on. A now pale, wild-eyed Dipper stared back at him. He shook his head mutely, and turned to run down the stairs.

 

/

 

Pacifica had been sitting in Grunkle Stan’s old chair, chatting with Mabel and Wendy, when she heard Dipper shriek, followed by the clatter of his footsteps as he bounded down the stairs. The three girls shot to their feet, and met him at the bottom of the steps.

 

Dipper didn’t stop—he ran at Pacifica and wrapped his arms around her torso, burying his head in her shoulder. She wanted to be pleased that he sought her out for comfort over his sister or Wendy, but she couldn’t be. He was trembling, clearly terrified.

 

“What’s wrong, Dip Dop?” asked Mabel gently.

 

Dipper simply shook his head, without lifting it from Pacifica’s shoulder.

 

“Dipper, man, you’re freaking us out,” said Wendy. She reached out to touch Dipper’s hand, and he flinched.

 

Pacifica squeezed him, then pulled away from him so he had to look at her. “Are you okay? What happened?”

 

Two scarlet spots appeared on Dipper’s otherwise paper-white cheeks. He looked at the floor and mumbled.

 

“What was that? I couldn’t understand you,” said Pacifica, leaning toward him.

 

“When I looked in the mirror,” Dipper repeated, his voice low, “Billy was staring back at me. Just for a split second. But I know I didn’t imagine it.”

 

Pacifica, Mabel, and Wendy exchanged concerned glances.

 

“So do you think you’re seeing what he sees in real time now, or something?” asked Wendy.

 

“Or, ugh...I hate to say this,” Mabel said, shuddering, “but if you can see him, and you’ve dreamed from his point of view… do you think the same thing has happened in reverse for him? Like, he could be watching our conversation right now?”

 

Dipper tensed up, his shoulders hunched. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “I hope not.”

 

Wendy cleared her throat. “So, on that freaky note, how ‘bout we go through Ford’s books and try to find some of those spells he said you should learn, Dipper?”

 

/

 

Several hours passed, the four youths having spent most of it sitting in the living room, scouring Ford’s journals and papers to find spells to defend themselves with. Unfortunately, most of the spells were extremely complicated, or required obscure ingredients that they had no idea how to obtain.

 

Dipper sighed, closed the book he’d been perusing with a snap, and leaned his head back against the armchair behind him, shutting his eyes.

 

“I know Grunkle Ford meant well when he told me in his letter that I should try and learn some spells,” he said sadly, “but I think he must have forgotten that it took him _years_ of study to become proficient with most of these.”

 

Mabel pushed the book in front of her aside, and stood up with a grunt, stretching. “You have no idea how glad I am to hear you say that, Bro-Bro. I’ve been thinking the same thing, but I didn’t want to be the one to bring it up.”

 

Wendy rubbed her eyes and yawned. She stood and placed the papers she’d been leafing through on top of the television set. “Okay dudes, it’s way past lunch-time and I’m starving. Let’s get some nosh. Then we can figure out how to deal with the amnesiac nacho man. Is that cool with everyone?”

 

“Heck yes!” said Mabel with a grin, as she patted her stomach.

 

Dipper’s stomach growled, and he nodded. He glanced at Pacifica, who was sitting up against the base of the chair next to him, her nose still buried in one of Ford’s old journals.

 

“Paz, do you want to take a food break?” asked Dipper. Pacifica was absorbed in what she was reading, so much so that she apparently didn’t realize Dipper was speaking to her. He reached over and laid his hand on her leg, just above the knee. She jumped, startled, and looked up at him. Her cheeks were tinged pink, and her eyes slightly bloodshot.

 

“Shit, you scared me, Pines!” she breathed. Then she looked up to see Mabel and Wendy both standing. “What’s going on?”

 

“We’re hungry,” said Mabel. “We’re gonna get some food. Are you coming with?”

 

“Oh wait, you want to go _out_?” said Dipper.

 

“Dude, all you have is like, frozen meals, peanut butter, and junk food,” said Wendy. “We kind of _have_ to go out.”

 

“Oh, right,” muttered Dipper. “Can we maybe get takeout and bring it back here? I think someone should stay to guard the Shack, since we know Billy is headed this way.”

 

“I volunteer to stay,” said Pacifica, before Wendy or Mabel could respond. “The stuff in this journal is fascinating. I’d like to keep reading.”

 

Mabel raised an eyebrow. “Okay, I never really had you pegged as the intellectual type, but whatevs,” she said with a shrug. “Someone else needs to stay, though. Safety in numbers. But not me. I need to get up and move around. Wendy? Dip?”

 

Wendy looked down at Dipper and Pacifica sitting comfortably next to each other. The corner of her mouth twitched upward, and when Dipper made eye contact with her, she shot him a quick wink.

 

“I really want to go out, too,” she said. “Unless, Dipper, you have your heart set on getting out of the house?”

 

Dipper felt the heat rise in his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “No, it’s fine if you go.”

 

“Sweet, thanks man,” enthused Wendy, with a cheeky grin. “What do you two want us to get you?”

 

Pacifica shrugged. “It would depend on where you get the takeout. I don’t really care, though, as long as whatever I get is at least semi-healthy. I’m not too picky.”

 

“Ditto,” said Dipper. “Mabel, you know what I like.”

 

Mabel gave Dipper a mock salute. “Yes, sir, very good, sir.” She turned and marched to the front door, made an exaggerated show of grabbing her umbrella, and then left. Wendy was right on her heels. Before ducking out the open door, she paused and turned back to grin at Dipper.

 

“You kids behave, now!” she chirped, and after a quick waggle of her fingers, she shut the door behind her.

 

Dipper made a mental note to kick Mabel’s butt—she must have gossiped to Wendy about her theory that Pacifica liked Dipper.

 

He turned to talk to Pacifica, hoping that she hadn’t picked up on Wendy’s obvious winks and conspiritorial grins. Okay, if he was being completely honest with himself, he was actually kind of hoping she _had_ noticed. Dipper felt like there was a ridiculous amount of sexual tension between the two of them, which had existed even before he woke up poking Pacifica with his boner while she masturbated. Now the sexual tension was so intense that Dipper felt like the air between them buzzed with it. It seemed like there was heat behind her every glance at him, and like even the most innocent words that passed her lips were dripping with innuendo.

 

But then she sent him mixed signals, like telling him not to peek as she changed clothes. Unless she was just teasing him. Oh God, _was_ she teasing him? When she had said not to peek, had she actually meant the opposite?

 

Based on what Dipper knew about Pacifica from their (limited) past summer interactions, Paz wasn’t one to play games when she liked a guy. In typical Northwest fashion, if she wanted something—or someone—she immediately staked her claim. She wasn’t shy about it. If she _was_ teasing Dipper, it was out of character for her. He didn’t want to risk making a move and being completely crushed when Pacifica rejected him, simply because she _might_ be teasing him.

 

Dipper sighed to himself, and shot Pacifica a sidelong glance. She appeared to still be reading.

 

“What’d you find that’s so interesting?” he asked, nudging her with an elbow.

 

“Hmm?” Pacifica looked up from her book. She blinked at Dipper, then yawned.

 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you,” said Dipper hastily. “You can tell me about it later.”

 

“What? No, it’s okay,” she replied. She dog-eared the page she was on, and closed the journal. “My eyes are getting tired anyway.”

 

“If you’re sure,” Dipper said hesitantly. “Did you find a spell that we might be able to use?”

 

“Oof,” said Pacifica softly. “No...I kind of forgot that was what I was supposed to be doing. I just found some really interesting research on meditation and yoga, where your great uncle linked certain positions to magic. He said that some tantric practices could even be used to weave powerful spells.” With her last sentence, she looked at her hands and blushed.

 

“Tantric,” mumbled Dipper, frowning. “I feel like I’ve heard that word before. Is it a kind of yoga? If it is, maybe there’s some spells in there that you can do.”

 

“Um. It can be a kind of yoga,” Pacifica said, her voice low. “But also...” She coughed. “I’m thirsty. Gonna get a drink. Be right back.” She stood and bustled toward the kitchen, leaving a very perplexed Dipper in her wake.

 

Dipper leaned over to pick up the journal Pacifica had been reading, then hoisted himself up onto the armchair. Curious, he turned to the page that Pacifica had dog-eared.

 

“What the _fuck_ , Grunkle Ford,” he muttered to himself. The page was covered in illustrations of couples with their bodies intertwined in various complicated sexual positions, along with notes on the spells being cast with each position.

 

Dipper didn’t have much time to take in everything in front of him, because he heard footsteps. Pacifica was headed back from the kitchen. He quickly tossed the book back down to approximately where it had been before he’d picked it up. He hoped Pacifica didn’t hear the thump of it hitting the floor.

 

/

 

Pacifica heard the thump of the journal hitting the floor. She chuckled to herself and shook her head as she entered the living room, two cans of Pitt Cola in hand. Dipper’s face was an unhealthy shade of magenta, and his expression of forced nonchalance suggested that he was anything but.

 

Pacifica approached the chair, and nudged Dipper’s leg with her foot so he’d scoot over and give her room to sit. She handed him a can of soda, which he took without meeting her eyes. He popped the top and took a few quick gulps.

 

“You looked in the book,” Pacifica said. It wasn’t a question.

 

Dipper nearly choked. He swallowed his mouthful of cola, and finally turned to look Pacifica in the eye. He nodded. “I looked in the book.”

 

Pacifica tried to hide her smile. “So, uh, what did you think?” she asked.

 

“Th-think?” stammered Dipper. He chuckled. “Well, I guess I feel a little silly about asking you if you could do one of the spells.”

 

Pacifica took a deep breath. This was her in. If Dipper didn’t realize that she wanted him after this conversation, he was hopeless.

 

“Well, technically I could. Some of them at least. I’m not sure even _I’m_ flexible enough to do _all_ of them.” She leaned over and scooped the book off the floor, opened it, and held it between them. “This one, for example,” she murmured, pointing to one of the illustrations. “I could do this one, as long as my partner was at least a little bendy. Do you think you could do that?”

 

Dipper stared at the picture blankly for a moment, processing Pacifica’s words. He appeared outwardly calm, except for his trembling hands. Finally he swallowed and turned from the page to look at her.

 

“Y-you and me? Do that?” he managed to choke out.

 

Pacifica gave him her best sultry half-smile, one eyebrow slightly raised. It was time to turn on the old Northwest charm.

 

“Well, only if you wanted to, Pines,” she said softly. She scooted closer to Dipper until the sides of their thighs were pressed together, and leaned to whisper in his ear, trailing her fingers gently across his jawline, and down his neck. “Don’t you want to see what kind of spell we can weave?”

 

Dipper’s chest was rising and falling rapidly. “Well, I guess if it’s for science,” he said, attempting a joke. He turned his head so that his face was only inches from Pacifica’s.

 

She smiled up at him from under her eyelashes. “Can it also be for fun?”

 

Dipper let out a small strangled whimper. Pacifica’s mouth was so close to his that she could feel his warm breath. She leaned even closer, and closed her eyes, her lips slightly parted.

 

Then the front door flew open with a bang, and Mabel cried out “We’re back, and we come bearing FOOD!”


	11. Chapter 11

Mabel was his twin, his constant companion from birth, and his confidant. But right now, Dipper kind of hated her. She had the worst timing. Pacifica had nearly kissed him, before Mabel barging in with takeout completely killed the mood.

 

The group ate their food around the kitchen table. Wendy and Mabel both chattered away with one another, seemingly oblivious to the awkward tension between Dipper and Pacifica. Dipper felt Pacifica’s eyes on his face, but whenever he turned to glance at her, she quickly looked away, her cheeks pink.

 

“Okay, so what’s the plan now?” asked Mabel, as she wiped her mouth with a napkin, and shoved it into her empty takeout container. “The spells were a bust, but we have to defend ourselves somehow if Billy is as homicidal as he was in his previous incarnation as a Dorito.”

 

“Didn’t Ford have a mini-armory in his lab?” asked Wendy. “He was always tinkering with all those futuristic guns of his. Maybe we can go look, and arm ourselves. If that fails, I can run home and grab a couple axes and my old crossbow.”

 

Dipper took a deep breath before answering. “Actually, Pacifica found a spell that she and I _might_ be able to actually do—but we’d need to try it in private, with no interruptions. Concentration is, uh, really important in order to get this particular spell to work.” He looked down at his half-eaten meal, and hoped they wouldn’t ask for any details about the spell.

 

“Yeah, it’s a long shot,” added Pacifica. “But we want to at least try. If you two want to go down to the lab and look for weapons, we’ll head up to the attic and attempt the spell.”

 

“What kind of spell is it?” asked Mabel.

 

Dipper paled, and looked to Pacifica for help. She shot him an almost imperceptible wink. “It’s hard to explain,” she answered. “If we’re able to get it to work, I’m sure we’ll have a better idea of how to describe it.”

 

Mabel and Wendy glanced at each other and shrugged.

 

“If you say so,” said Wendy, standing up to throw away her empty takeout box. “We’ll look for weapons for you two as well, in case your spell turns out to be impotent.”

 

Dipper’s head shot up, and he made eye contact with Wendy, his cheeks hot. What was that supposed to mean? Wendy stared blandly back at him, a small smile on her lips.

 

“Oh, I think the spell could turn out to be _quite_ powerful,” Pacifica said, her blue eyes quickly meeting Dipper’s before she glanced away. She stood and put her leftover takeout in the fridge. “Just make absolutely sure to not disturb us. It could ruin everything.”

 

“Okie dokie,” said Mabel, cheerfully. “You two have fun making your spell. C’mon, Wendy.” She grabbed the redhead’s hand and led her toward the gift shop, where the hidden entrance to Ford’s lab was located.

 

Once he was sure that Mabel and Wendy were completely out of earshot, Dipper let out a sigh. “So do you really think we can manage one of those... spells?” He stood and closed his takeout box, setting it next to Pacifica’s in the fridge.

 

“Maybe,” Pacifica murmured. She approached Dipper from behind, and ran her hands down the sides of his torso, stopping just above the waistband of his jeans. “But if it doesn’t work, at least we’ll have fun trying, right?”

 

Dipper shivered, and turned to face Pacifica. “Just—I… and you… and—”

 

Pacifica smiled as she cut Dipper’s stammering off with a finger against his lips. “We can talk about it upstairs, okay Pines? Wait here.”

 

Dipper nodded silently. Pacifica trotted to the living room to pick up the book containing the tantric spells, then sauntered back, giving Dipper a sultry smile from beneath her eyelashes. She took his hand, and led him up the stairs.

 

/

 

Once inside Dipper’s bedroom, Pacifica turned and locked the door behind them. When she turned back to Dipper, he was standing in the middle of the room, staring at her, nervously shifting his weight from foot to foot, his cheeks a deep red. He looked like he might cry.

 

Pacifica tossed the spell book onto Mabel’s bed, and approached Dipper. His eyes were wide, and he was trembling. She glanced down to the stitches and cast on his left arm, and sighed. He’d been through a lot lately. By the looks of it, this might just be too much for him to handle right now.

 

Pacifica met his eyes. “Dipper, if you don’t want—mmmph!”

 

Dipper cut her off by grabbing her pulling her against him, pressing his lips firmly to hers. His kiss quite literally took her breath away. By the time he pulled his lips away from hers, she was panting.

 

Dipper stared intensely into Pacifica’s eyes, one hand still gently cupped against her cheek. “I’ve been wanting to do that all week,” he murmured. “I was just afraid it would be unwelcome.”

 

Pacifica chuckled softly. “Oh, no, it is _definitely_ welcome.”

 

Dipper dropped his hand from Pacifica’s cheek and looked down. “I was worried you were only being nice to me out of pity, and I thought I might be reading too much into how amazing you’ve been to me.”

 

Pacifica reached forward and placed a finger under Dipper’s chin, tilting his face back up so he would meet her eyes. “Dipper, everything I’ve done for you has been because I—I genuinely care about you. A lot. And,” she whispered, leaning in and placing her mouth against his ear, “I want you. Thinking about what you could do to me gets me so hot.”

 

Dipper let out a low moan and shuddered. “Were you thinking about me in bed this morning?” he asked, his mouth tickling Pacifica’s ear, the timbre of his voice causing a wave of warmth to begin building up in her core.

 

Pacifica bit her lip, and took a shaky breath. “You were awake for that, huh?”

 

Dipper chuckled. “For some of it—especially the, uh, explosive finish. You have no idea how much I wanted to roll you over and... help you.”

 

Pacifica ran her hands down Dipper’s torso, but didn’t stop at his waistband this time. She slid her hands over his jeans, lightly grabbing the stiff bulge between his legs. Dipper took a sharp breath.

 

“Oh, I think I had a pretty good idea,” Pacifica said, giving the bulge a gentle squeeze. “This big boy was poking me in the back.”

 

“Hhhhhnnngg,” Dipper whimpered. “W-would’ve liked to poke you somewhere else. I just didn’t think my advances would be welcome.”

 

Pacifica giggled and let go of Dipper’s pants, pulling away from him to grin up into his face. “So basically we were both horny as fuck this morning, but we both thought the other wouldn’t want us.”

 

Dipper chuckled and nodded. “That sounds about right.”

 

“But now—so we’re absolutely clear: Dipper Pines, I want you. Do you want me?”

 

“Hell yes,” Dipper murmured. “So, so much.” He grabbed Pacifica by the waist and lifted her, tossing her gently onto his bed. She lay back against his pillows and held her arms out to him. Dipper grinned and climbed into bed with her, straddling her and wrapping his arms around her, burying his face in her neck, and nibbling gently.

 

Pacifica gripped his back with white knuckles, squirming and gasping with pleasure as Dipper lightly grazed her throat with his teeth. She felt the bulkiness in his jeans press into her pelvis and moaned low. She couldn’t take it. She let go of his back and grabbed at his pants, fumbling to undo the button and zipper. She slid his pants down to his knees, and he kicked them off. His dick poked out of the opening of his boxers, and Pacifica ran her fingertips softly over it, then gently palmed it and squeezed. It was hard, hot, and throbbing.

 

Dipper groaned, and pulled away from Pacifica. “Wh-what about the spell?” he panted, looking over at the book on Mabel’s bed.

 

Pacifica smiled coyly up at him. “Well, I wasn’t lying—there is one I think we can do that is supposed to combine our energies to create an aura of peace… but it does take concentration. I don’t know about you, but I don’t think I can focus on anything until I feel you cum inside me. We can try the spell in a little while, once we’ve taken care of more...urgent matters.”

 

Dipper nodded. “Fair enough,” he said low, running his hands up underneath Pacifica’s shirt. He caressed her nipples, and as she whimpered, they instantly hardened. Then he had another thought. “I don’t want to be a buzzkill, but… protection? I wasn’t expecting to—I didn’t bring any...” Dipper trailed off.

 

Pacifica reached down to the hem of her shirt and pulled it up over her head as she answered him. “I’m on the pill, and I got tested for STIs after the only previous sexual relationship I’ve had. I’m clean.” She tossed her shirt to the floor, and laughed at Dipper’s face as he stared at her naked torso and breasts. “What about you—you clean?”

 

“Huh?” Dipper asked, still staring at Pacifica’s chest. “Oh—” he said as his preoccupied brain finally processed her words. He blushed fiercely. “I’m not—I mean, I’ve never… you’re my first,” he said quietly.

 

“Seriously?” Pacifica asked, shocked. “As good-looking as you turned out? What are those Piedmont girls thinking?”

 

Dipper shrugged. “I’m glad, though. I had crushes, but I never felt about any of them the way I feel about you. You… you’re fucking amazing, Northwest.”

 

It was Pacifica’s turn to blush. “Right back atcha, Pines,” she said with a small smile, as she reached out to pull his shirt over his head. She tossed it aside, and pulled him back down against her. She ran her hands through his tangle of curls, as they fell into a frenzied kiss. The heat of their bodies made it feel as if they were melting together. Dipper grunted and paused to yank off his boxers. He pressed hard against her. The only thing between them was the thin, now damp and musky-smelling flannel of Pacifica’s borrowed pajama pants.

 

Pacifica’s scent drove Dipper crazy. He slid down her body, placing a hot trail of kisses down her torso in his wake. When he got to the elastic waistband of her pants, he inhaled deeply, then grabbed the edges over both her hips and slid them down, until they were low enough that she could kick them off.

 

Dipper knelt on the floor next to the bed, and gripped Pacifica’s hips, pulling her to the edge of the mattress, then throwing her legs over his shoulders. He stared at the perfection of her body for a moment, until he finally lowered his head between Pacifica’s thighs, and pressed his lips against her puffy slit. He slid his tongue along the pouting crevice, first lapping at it gently, then delving deeper until he found her hidden jewel, and began to tease it mercilessly.

 

Pacifica writhed on the sheets, her hands gripping uselessly at the fabric. “Hnnnnnggg… if this is your first time, I wonder what you’ll be like with practice,” she panted. “Ffffuck, Pines…”

 

Dipper smiled to himself as he continued to work at Pacifica’s clit, alternately lapping at it with his tongue, and gently kissing and sucking on it. She had been wet to begin with, but now she was practically dripping. She began gently bucking her hips, her thighs tightening slightly around his head.

 

“Mmmmmnnnn,” Pacifica whimpered. “Fuck, Dipper, I’m cl-close...oh god, don’t stop… I’m...ha! Ha! _Ffffuck!_ ”

 

Pacifica tensed up, and began violently trembling, her thighs squeezing Dipper’s head. She bucked hard against his face, her toes curled. She panted and whimpered as waves of warmth washed over her, until her tense muscles finally relaxed.

 

Her legs slid back down Dipper’s shoulders, and he ducked out from between them, grinning, feeling quite pleased with himself. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and stood up. His cock was rock-solid and throbbing, but he could tell Pacifica would need a bit of a breather before it got any action. She lay back on the bed, her knees dangling over the edge, and her arms spread wide. Her eyes were closed, her face was a deep shade of crimson, and her chest was rising and falling rapidly as she tried to catch her breath.

 

Dipper placed his hands underneath Pacifica, and lifted her to move her so she was once again lying vertically on the bed. He climbed in next to her, and trailed his fingers gently over her torso and breasts. Pacifica shifted and moaned softly, opening her eyes.

 

“That was...” she breathed. “Wow. Just… fuck.”

 

Dipper leaned in and kissed Pacifica’s cheek. “Speechless, are we?” he teased.

 

Pacifica nodded. She took a deep breath, and leaned up on an elbow, glancing down at Dipper’s raging boner. “I suppose it’s my turn to do the same to you?” she asked, with a grin.

 

“Actually, as amazing as having your mouth around my cock sounds, I’d rather have your pussy around it right now,” murmured Dipper. “What just happened to you? I want to feel it happen around me. I want to fuck you until you cum—again.”

 

Dipper’s words sent a jolt of warmth through Pacifica’s core. “That’s perfectly fine with me,” she said, running her fingers lazily through Dipper’s hair. “I want to feel you cum inside me.”

 

Dipper’s answer was a low moan. “Then we better get started. I’m about to cum just _thinking_ of cumming inside you.”

 

He swung a leg over Pacifica so that he was straddling her again, the tip of his cock pressed right up against her wet slit. He swallowed nervously. “And you’re sure you want to—hnnnnnnnnngggggg!”

 

Pacifica was sure. She cut Dipper off by grabbing his hips and pulling him towards her, while she bucked her own hips up. As a result, his cock slid quickly into her tight, slippery sheath.

 

Dipper began to move on Pacifica out of pure instinct, slowly, with long, deliberate strokes. He lowered himself onto her so that he could kiss her while he fucked her. If she minded the taste of her juices on his lips, she didn’t bring it up. Instead, she kissed him back deeply, moaning into his mouth, and gripping him tightly, her nails digging in to the flesh of his back as he began to move on her more quickly.

 

“God, you’re so tight,” he murmured huskily into Pacifica’s ear. “Ffffuck, Paz, I might not last very long.”

 

Pacifica’s answer was a breathy whimper. She was still sensitive from her earlier orgasm. She could already feel the waves of warmth building up in her core, and her muscles beginning to tense up.

 

Dipper began panting. He pushed himself up off of Pacifica’s torso, and slowed his thrusts. “God, I’m close,” he moaned. “Sorry this’ll be so quick.”

 

Pacifica’s eyes had been closed, but she opened them now, gazing deeply into Dipper’s warm brown eyes. “I’m close too,” she whispered. “Fuck me harder, Dipper. Cum in me.”

 

That sent Dipper over the edge. He rammed himself into Pacifica, the sound of their flesh smacking together reverberating throughout the attic bedroom.

 

“Ah—ah—hnnnnnngggggg—FUCK!” cried Dipper, as his member twitched within Pacifica, filling her with his hot seed. At the same time, Pacifica tensed up and moaned loudly, her pussy clamping tightly around Dipper’s cock, and rapidly pulsating. Dipper felt like she was milking him of every last drop of cum.

 

Dipper collapsed on top of Pacifica, then pulled out, and rolled off her. He sat up long enough to watch his cum slowly leak out of Pacifica’s pussy, its milky stickiness staining his sheets. He’d have to change them later. Right now he just wanted to curl his sweaty body up against Pacifica’s, and bask in the afterglow.

 

He lay back down, and Pacifica snuggled into him. “Damn, Pines, you wore me out,” she muttered sleepily.

 

“Sorry,” was Dipper’s mumbled reply.

 

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing.” Pacifica grinned. “On the contrary—it’s a very, _very_ good thing.”

 

“Oh, well, good, then,” Dipper said, yawning. “Think we can try for a nap before we get to work on that spell?”

 

Pacifica’s answer was a soft snore. She was already asleep. Dipper kissed the top of her head, then pulled her close to him, cradling her against his chest as he sank into the depths of sleep.

 

/

 

_It had been raining all day, and had only recently stopped. He was soaked to the bone and shivering when he finally came upon the town of Gravity Falls. The name seemed extremely familiar to him, but he couldn’t be sure if he really remembered it, or if it was just wishful thinking. Whether or not Gravity Falls was home, it was a convenient place to stop for the evening. He was tired, hungry, and incredibly lonely._

 

 _He made his way toward the center of town from the outskirts, until he happened upon a restaurant called_ Greasy’s _. He didn’t have much money on him, just the spare change the last trucker he’d gotten a ride with had given him. He hoped it was enough to at least get a coffee. He stumbled tiredly through the puddle-ridden parking lot, and pushed to door of the diner open. His stomach rumbled as he was immediately hit with the scent of pancakes, bacon, burgers, and coffee. A stout, gray-haired woman with a wonky eye stood behind the counter, and looked up when he came in. In fact, she did a double-take. The woman smiled warmly at him, and came out from behind the counter to greet him._

 

“ _Well hi there! You must be Billy! Dipper’s art has gotten really good, the picture looks just like you!”_

 

_He blinked at the woman, confused. “I’m sorry, have we met?”_

 

“ _Oh, sorry, I get ahead of myself sometimes. I’m Susan. The Pines twins were in here with a couple friends for breakfast this morning, and I overheard that they had a friend named Billy coming to visit. Dipper had drawn a picture of you, which is how I recognized you. Have a seat at the counter, dear. I’ll get you some coffee.”_

 

_He nodded mutely and sat on a stool, as Susan bustled back behind the counter to get him his beverage._

 

_Pines twins. Dipper. Yes, this felt right. And they had a picture of him. They were expecting him? For the first time since he saw the boat coming to his rescue as he floated half-dead in the ocean, he felt a small ember of hope flare to life in the pit of his stomach. He was close to home, finally, and hopefully close to getting some answers about himself._

 

_A blinding flash of lightning struck nearby, and almost immediately, a peal of thunder shook the heavens. Rain began pouring outside once again. He sighed. Walking out in that was going to be nasty._

 

_Susan sat a chipped mug of steaming coffee down in front of him with a plunk. “Nasty weather we’re having,” she observed. “You look half-soaked yourself. You haven’t been out walking in that all day, have you?”_

 

_He shrugged. “For most of it. Actually, I’m a little turned around—do you know where I can find the Pines twins? I lost my directions.”_

 

“ _Well sure, sweetie. Everyone in town knows the Mystery Shack! It’s a real shame about Stan and Ford dying the way they did. Their nephew, Dipper lives there now. I’m not sure if he plans on keeping it though.”_

 

_He felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. Stan and Ford. Dying the way they did. He didn’t remember much about Stan, but he knew for certain that Ford had been good to him. And Dipper was their nephew._

 

“ _Right, the Mystery Shack,” he said, his throat tight. “Can you tell me how to get there?”_

 

_Susan smiled. “Well, hon, if you don’t mind waiting a couple hours, I’ll give you a ride over there after my shift. That way you have time to dry off. And I’ll make you some pancakes—my treat. What do you say?”_

 

 _He was anxious to finally get home, but he_ was _hungry, and entirely too damp. He nodded and smiled at Susan. “Thank you, ma’am, that would be great.”_

 

/

 

Dipper sat up with a start, his heart pounding. “Paz,” he said quietly, shaking his naked bed-mate by the shoulder. “Pacifica, wake up. We have a problem. Billy’s in town. He’ll be here soon.”


	12. Chapter 12

Lightning struck somewhere in the forest near the Mystery Shack, accompanied by an earsplitting boom of thunder. The lights flickered, as the power threatened to go out. Dipper stood in front of the bathroom mirror, gripping the edge of the sink and shaking. He took a deep breath, in through his nose, and out through his mouth. Everything was too much right now, and his heart was racing as fast as his mind.

 

When Dipper told her about his dream, Pacifica had quickly dressed and run downstairs to warn Mabel and Wendy of Billy’s impending arrival. He told her he’d be down soon, that he needed to use the toilet. That was a lie. He needed to calm his shakes and collect his thoughts in private, without his sister, best friend, and...whatever Pacifica was to him now… worrying about his mental state.

 

He’d had panic attacks before, so he knew what it felt like when one was coming on. If he was correct in his thinking, there was a good chance he would be throwing up in the next few minutes. Instead of feeling nauseous, however, Dipper began to feel an uncomfortable tightness in his chest, like he couldn’t expand his lungs. He kept taking deep breaths, but they didn’t seem to help. His extremities started to feel cold, and prickly, like they were asleep. He felt lightheaded and dizzy. He stumbled back into the wall, and slid down it, to sit with his knees pulled to his chest, and his head down between them.

 

He felt like he was dying.

 

A blinding arc of lightning lit up the small bathroom window, as simultaneous crack of thunder shook the building, and the lights cut out. Dipper cradled his broken hand to his chest and rocked gently in place, taking shaky breaths as tears streamed down his face.

 

He didn’t want to die.

 

/

 

“ _Perfect weather for you to pull one of your mad science experiments, eh Poindexter?” he said with a chuckle. He was seated in a chair in the middle of a small boat galley that was pitching to and fro, as what seemed like an endless peal of thunder rumbled in the air outside of the cabin._

 

_Ford turned from the porthole. He didn’t look amused. “The weather is coincidental. If you’d rather wait, however—”_

 

“ _No way, you said you had everything ready to take care of my ‘situation.’” he said, arms crossed over his chest. “I’d prefer to get it over with, if it’s all the same to you.”_

 

_Ford shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He crossed the cabin to a small table, lit a match, and dropped it into a ceramic bowl. A blue flame shot up from the bowl, startling Ford into jumping backward._

 

“ _Spook yourself, Sixer?” he laughed._

 

_Ford picked an old, leather bound book up from the table, and turned toward the chair again. “Nearly singed my eyebrows, actually.” He placed a finger on the page his book was open to, then nodded to himself. “Okay, the spell says you have to be holding the vessel for this to work. Here you go.”_

 

_Ford handed him the ceramic bowl from the table, the contents of which were still smoldering._

 

_He scratched his head. “Wait, the vessel is a bowl? How—”_

 

_Ford sighed. “I’ve explained this to you before. The spell creates an impenetrable magical barrier around the vessel. He’ll be trapped, permanently. May we begin, now?”_

 

_He looked down at the smoking contents of the bowl, and shrugged. “I guess if it doesn’t work, we’ll still have this nice bowl of cinders.”_

 

“ _It_ will _work, trust me,” said Ford._

 

“ _I never doubted ya, Sixer.”_

 

_That elicited a small smile from Ford. He braced himself against the rocking of the boat by taking a wide stance, used one finger to push his glasses up his nose, and began reading aloud an incantation._

 

_/_

 

Billy trembled as he waited outside, under the eaves by the door, for Susan to lock up Greasy’s. The storm seemed to have settled over Gravity Falls, and was growing in intensity. He hadn’t been in as bad of a storm since… his first clear memory—the boat capsizing.

He swallowed hard, as images of that night flew unbidden across his mind’s eye. He still didn’t have any memories from before the accident, but he knew—he _knew—_ that Ford was important in his life. And Ford’s brother that Susan had mentioned—Stan. He sounded really familiar, but Billy didn’t have any distinct memories of anyone before that night.

Another flash of lightning streaked across the heavens, its near instantaneous boom of thunder causing Billy to jump and cover his hands with his ears. He clenched his eyes shut, for good measure. His heart was racing. Ford had died in a thunderstorm just like this one.

He didn’t want to die.

 

_/_

 

_The wind seemed to pick up outside, and he had to stand, because the boat was rocking hard enough now to tip his chair over. Lightning struck nearby, the crack of resultant thunder deafening. The boat lurched sideways, and he had to hold onto the vessel with one hand, and use the other hand to brace himself against the wall._

 

 _He had to shout to hear himself over the storm. “On second thought, maybe we_ should _wait until the weather clears up.”_

 

_Ford kept reading, and frowned. He shook his head no._

 

“ _I’m assuming that means that this isn’t the kind of thing you can just stop right in the middle of, huh?” he asked._

 

_Ford arched one eyebrow, still reading, and nodded._

 

“ _Fantastic,” he grunted to himself._

 

_He gripped the vessel with white knuckles. His chest felt heavy, and he was sweating way more than the situation warranted. The hand he was bracing himself against the wall with began to tingle and go numb. A sharp pain ripped through the left side of his chest, and he gasped, and doubled over._

 

“ _Ford!” he called out weakly. He knew what was happening. He knew it._

 

_And he didn’t want to die._

 

_/_

 

Dipper’s eyes flew open and he blinked, disoriented. Someone was pounding on the bathroom door, but he couldn’t hear what they were saying over the constant rumble of thunder. He took a deep, shaky breath, and stood up from the floor. He pulled open the door to see Wendy, holding a flashlight, her other fist raised, ready to bang on the door once again.

 

“God, Dipper, I thought I was gonna have to bust the door down!” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. Then she leaned in toward him, shined the flashlight in his eyes, and peered closely at his face. “You look like shit, man. Everything okay?”

 

Dipper squinted against the light in his eyes, and stood in the door frame, unmoving. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, unsure of what to say. It had been hard enough for him to get Wendy and Mabel to believe that he was seeing through Billy’s eyes in his dreams. If he told them that he’d just passed out on the bathroom floor and seen some of Stan and Ford’s last moments alive, they’d probably decide he was crazy after all, and try to cart him back to the hospital.

 

“Dude, seriously,” Wendy said, reaching forward to place a hand on his shoulder, “What’s wrong? It’s about Billy, right? Pacifica told us that you two, uh, fell asleep while meditating, and you dreamed he was on his way over.”

 

Dipper saw an out and he took it. After all, he was freaked out about Billy as well. He didn’t need to bring up his dream about the Grunkles.

 

“Yeah,” he said softly, nodding. “I’m worried that when he sees the Mystery Shack, he’s going to remember he’s Bill, and try and get to the portal. We all know what Bill’s capable of if anyone is in the way of what he wants.”

 

Wendy nodded. “Come on downstairs, man. We can all freak out together.”

 

Dipper followed Wendy down the steps. Pacifica and Mabel were waiting for them at the base of the staircase.

 

Pacifica grabbed Dipper’s hand. “Are you okay? You were up there a good while.”

 

Dipper shrugged. “I guess I’m okay as I can be, considering a dream demon, somehow in human form, is on his way to the Mystery Shack as we speak.

 

“Too bad your spell was a bust, huh?” Mabel said. “Pacifica told us you fell asleep during the meditation part.”

 

Dipper’s cheeks grew warm. “Yeah, it was h-hard—” He cut himself off, his eyes darting to Pacifica’s face, in a silent plea for a change of subject.

 

Pacifica glanced around the room, searching for something. “ _Please_ tell me you two were more successful than us, and found some good weaponry in Ford’s lab?”

 

“Oh boy, did we ever!” Mabel said. “We brought a box up. It’s in the kitchen.”

 

Dipper didn’t wait for Mabel to finish talking before he turned on his heel and power-walked into the kitchen. He stared into the musty cardboard box sitting on the table, picked up a futuristic-looking silver gun, and frowned.

 

“You figured out the problem, huh?” Wendy spoke from behind him. She turned on a battery-operated lantern and sat it next to the box on the table.

 

“What problem?” asked Pacifica. She looked down into the box. “I see quite a few guns. That’s good, right?”

 

Dipper turned around, carefully holding the gun so as not to point it at anyone, his finger nowhere near the trigger.

 

“It depends,” he said. “What the hell do any of these _do_? I don’t see any ammo. Were any of them labeled? Some look like they might be laser guns… but what’s their power source?”

 

Mabel sighed as she approached the table and peered into the box. “We hoped some of these would be familiar to you, since you were always helping Ford down in his lab. If—” her voice quavered, and she sniffed. “If he were still alive, I’d give him such a hard time about not having anything in his lab properly organized and labeled.” She turned and walked over to the window, staring out at the storm, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed softly.

 

Dipper sat the gun back in the box, and tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. This was the first time since she’d come back to Gravity Falls that Mabel had given any indication that she was still grieving for their Grunkles. Dipper had thought that she had already gotten over their deaths, but it occurred to him that she was probably just trying to ignore her own feelings for his sake.

 

Dipper jumped as he felt a sharp kick in the back of his calf. “Ow!” he hissed, and turned to glare at Wendy. “What was that for?”

 

Wendy scowled at Dipper, her arms crossed over her chest, before mouthing quite clearly: COMFORT YOUR SISTER, DORK.

 

Properly shamed, Dipper walked around the table and stood next to Mabel in front of the window. He put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed her in a side-hug.

 

“Sorry, Dip Dop,” Mabel said, sniffling and wiping her face on her sleeve. “I’ll try to get it together.”

 

“Sorry? What are you talking about?” Dipper turned Mabel around to face him. “You have just as much right to be sad about our Grunkles as I do.”

 

“But it’s been so much worse for you,” Mabel said, her eyes flicking down to the stitches on Dipper’s arm. “I don’t want you to have to worry about me. You’ve always been there for me when I needed you—now it’s my turn to be there for you.”

 

Dipper smiled down at his sister, and wiped his suddenly leaky eyes with the back of his hand. “How about we both are there for each other?”

 

Mabel nodded. “Awkward sibling hug?”

 

“You know it,” Dipper said, wrapping his arms around his sister.

 

“Uh, I hate to break up this adorable sibling moment,” Pacifica said, staring out the window, “but I think I just saw headlights turn off the main road, and head this way.”

 

“Shit.” Dipper turned to Wendy. “You’re the lumberjane/survival expert. What should we do?”

 

Wendy shrugged. “I mean, grab a gun, I guess? Look menacing? We don’t even know if they actually do anything.”

 

“But what should we _do?_ ” asked Dipper, as everyone reached into the box and pulled out a weapon. “If he tries to get in, do we just… let him in?”

 

“That’s up to you, man,” said Wendy. “This is your house now, and you’ve been dreaming about this dude… you know how he might act better than any of us.”

 

Dipper bit his lip. His heart was pounding in his ears, and he felt lightheaded again. He reached out and grabbed the flashlight from Wendy’s hand and turned it off, then did the same to the lantern sitting on the table.

 

“Uh, hello darkness, my old friend?” Mabel intoned, confused.

 

“It’s so he can’t see into the shack through the windows,” Dipper mumbled. He turned to Pacifica, who was still peering out the window. “Do you see anything?”

 

“Huh,” said Pacifica. “Well, the headlights just came to a stop about halfway up the drive, and now they’re backing out toward the road. Maybe it’s not even him?”

 

Dipper felt the tightness in his chest again, and collapsed into one of the kitchen chairs. He took a deep breath. “No,” he said, unable to explain how he knew. “It’s him.”

 

/

 

Gravel crunched under Susan’s tires as she pulled her minivan into the drive that led up to the Mystery Shack. “Here we are!” she sang out cheerfully.

 

Billy peered down the drive, which was illuminated every few seconds by flickers of lightning. He could just make out a dark triangular shape silhouetted against the forest.

 

“All the lights are off,” he murmured.

 

“Storm knocked out the power, no doubt,” said Susan pragmatically.

 

Billy held out a hand and touched Susan’s forearm. “You can stop here.”

 

Susan pressed the brake and turned to look at Billy with her good eye. “Why? It’s raining cats and dogs, kiddo! I can drop you off right by the porch!”

 

Billy shook his head and squeezed her arm gently before pulling his hand away. “I was hoping to surprise them, and the surprise will be ruined if they see your van,” he said, hoping she would buy it. He didn’t want to have to explain that he was a nervous wreck and needed to throw up.

 

“Well, okay, Billy,” she acquiesced. “Try not to get too soaked! And stop by Greasy’s and see me again before you leave town, okay?”

 

Billy nodded. “I’ll certainly try to. Thanks. You’ve been very kind.” He got out of the van and waved at Susan as she backed slowly out of the drive.

 

The rain wasn’t as torrential as it had been earlier, but Billy was quickly drenched. His nausea surged, and he trotted to the side of the driveway, and vomited up the contents of his excellent dinner from Greasy’s, suddenly full of regret for asking Susan for seconds.

 

Billy wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and then wiped the back of his hand on the leg of his jeans. He turned once again toward the dark triangle, and shoved his trembling hands in his pockets as he strode forward.

 

“Home,” he whispered to himself. “Pine Tree and Shooting Star. They’ll have the answers I’m looking for.” He swallowed hard. “I just hope I don’t regret asking the questions.”

 

As he neared the Mystery Shack, a white-hot bolt of lightning struck the weather vane that sat at the top of the roof, and there was no waiting for the thunder to follow. The lightning was the thunder. Billy dropped to his knees, his ears ringing, unable to see anything but the ghost of the lightning bolt superimposed on everything in his field of vision. His heart beat at an unhealthy pace, as he tried to catch his breath. It felt like mother nature was out to finish the job that she had failed at when Billy didn’t drown. The sky was against him.

 

He struggled to his feet, blinking rapidly to try and clear the jagged outline of lightning from his vision. Mother nature wasn’t going to win.

 

He was going home.

 

/

 

The area around the Mystery Shack was suddenly illuminated as with a white, neon light, and the building shook. The roar of thunder nearly drowned out the screams of the terrified occupants of the Shack.

 

“Holy shit,” breathed Wendy. “I think that one actually hit us!”

 

“I’ve never seen it storm this bad here,” Mabel said quietly.

 

“Oh, God, you were right, Dipper,” Pacifica said, panic rising in her voice. “He’s—I see him. He’s headed this way.”

 

Dipper stood from his chair, his shaking legs barely able to support him. He crossed the kitchen to stand next to Pacifica at the window, and slipped his hand into hers. It was difficult to tell which of them was trembling worse.

 

“He looks... determined,” said Dipper, watching Billy by the constant flicker of distant lightning. “But, determined to what end?”

 

As soon as the question left his lips, he gasped. As Billy trudged toward the front door, he slowly turned his head, and looked right at Dipper, as if he could see him there at the window, even with the lights out.

 

Dipper stared at the hazel-yellow eyes, transfixed by their familiarity.

 

“Dipper?” Pacifica asked quietly, as his hand which had been holding her own dropped limply to his side.

 

Dipper blinked and turned to look at her, then back at Mabel and Wendy. His eyes looked haunted.

 

“Bro-bro, you’re kinda freaking me out,” Mabel said. “Where—what are you doing?”

 

He brushed past his sister without a word.

 

Wendy stepped in front of him to block the kitchen doorway. “Dude, talk to us. We need to know how to handle this Billy situation.”

 

Dipper raised his brow, as if surprised.

 

“How to handle it?” he repeated. “Easy. I’m letting him in.”


	13. Chapter 13

A deafening silence descended upon the Mystery Shack. The whistle of wind through the pine trees ceased, the patter of rain on the roof and against the windows disappeared. Even the thunder subsided, as the lightning that had caused it simply... stopped. The power was still out, so none of the ever present white noise created by electronics and the HVAC system filled the background. As Dipper felt his way toward the front door from the kitchen, the only noises he could hear were his shaky breathing, his heartbeat in his ears, and his shuffling, hesitant footsteps.

He reached the front door, took a deep breath, and pulled it open.

A dark silhouette stood in the doorway, fist raised in anticipation of knocking. The fist slowly lowered, as yellowish hazel eyes, which seemed to be illuminated from some impossible, unknown light source, stared at Dipper. The silhouette’s owner broke the silence.

“Pine...Tree?” The voice sounded plaintive and unsure.

“Bill.” Dipper’s voice didn’t sound unsure at all. “Come in.”

A flashlight beam, coming from the direction of the kitchen, suddenly swept over the two young men as the waterlogged, blond youth stepped over the threshold. He blinked and held an arm up over his face.

“Sorry,” Mabel said softly, and aimed the flashlight beam at the floor. She, Pacifica, and Wendy stood in the kitchen doorway, staring at the blond young man with trepidation. Wendy held the battery-powered lantern in one hand, casting a circle of yellowish light around the entrance hallway. In her other hand, she held one of Ford’s mystery guns—and she didn’t try to keep that fact a secret. Pacifica stood between the two others, awkwardly gripping what appeared to be a ray gun.

“S’okay,” the blond boy muttered. “And, um, I go by Billy.” He glanced at the guns pointed at him, and then down at his feet, around which a large puddle of water was forming.

Dipper stared at Billy, unsure how to proceed. He didn’t _look_ evil. If anything, he looked slightly pathetic, like a wet dog. Dipper sighed, and ran his hands through his hair. “You’re a bit...damp.”

Billy, nodded his head back toward the door, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “Rain.”

“Right. Well, go dry off. Bathroom’s down the hall there.” Dipper pointed. “I’ll bring you something to change into while your stuff dries.”

“Thanks, Pine Tree,” Billy said, as he started down the hall. He stopped in front of the kitchen doorway. “Mind if I borrow your light... Shooting Star?”

Mabel wordlessly handed him the flashlight, careful not to touch his hand, and he continued down the dark hallway to the guest bathroom, the pale beam of light guiding him.

Dipper stared after him, confused and unsettled. If Billy was just Bill in human form, why did Dipper suddenly have the urge to hug him?

“Uh, what the hell?” Wendy said, cutting into Dipper’s thoughts. “You went from being freaked out to offering him your clothes awfully fast, dude.” The three girls strode quickly over to Dipper, the lantern light bobbing in time with Wendy’s steps.

“I mean, he didn’t _seem_ threatening,” Pacifica mused.

Dipper ignored them, and turned to his sister. Mabel was pale, and her lower lip trembled.

“You feel it too, don’t you?” Dipper asked her.

She nodded. “I’m not sure what _it_ is, but yeah, I feel it. I was afraid that if he touched me when I handed him the flashlight, I would just immediately latch onto him and never let go.” A tear trickled down her cheek, and she wiped it away absently.

Dipper reached out and squeezed Mabel’s hand. “I’m gonna run upstairs and grab him a change of clothes. Keep—keep the guns pointed down the hall, just in case.”

Dipper turned and trudged up the darkened staircase. At the top, he reached for his doorknob and pushed his door open.

Then he fell to his knees, gripping his chest, his mouth open in a silent scream.

 

/

 

“ _No, no, no,” he groaned. He clutched at his chest with his left hand, his right gripping the edge of the ceramic bowl with white knuckles. The boat suddenly pitched nearly all the way onto its side, and no amount of sure footing would have kept him standing upright. He fell against the wall, and lost his grip on the bowl. It flew up in the air, spilling most of its contents onto his face and hair, before crashing to the floor and shattering. He dropped to his knees, landing on some of the shards from the bowl, and hot pain bloomed as they ripped into his skin. Still, the pain from the cuts was nothing compared to the deep, tearing ache in his chest. He couldn’t breathe. He tried to call out. “S-Sixer!” It was no use. He collapsed into the pile of ceramic dust and ashes, gasping for air._

_Across the galley, Ford gripped the edge of the counter, which was bolted to the wall, for stability, his head buried in the book, as he shouted the incantation over the noise of the storm. Finally he said the last word, and looked up over the pages with a triumphant smile. The smile immediately transformed into a look of horror._

_Ford tossed the book aside and rushed over to his brother’s prone form, screaming._

_He couldn’t even tell what it was that his brother was screaming. All he could hear was a dull hum, like the sustained note of a plucked guitar string. A soft white mist obscured his vision, and his breathing eased slightly. The pain in his chest ceased. He accepted it. He was dying. He felt a smile form on his lips, and he wished he could tell Ford it was okay. That_ he _was okay._

_And then, darkness._

 

/

 

Dipper gasped and shot to his feet, just as the power came back on. He stared around his attic bedroom, disoriented. His cheeks were wet, and he realized that tears were still falling freely down them. He tried to remember what it was that he had been about to do, before he watched his Grunkle Stan die. No, more than watched. He _was_ his Grunkle Stan. He had died right along with him.

Dipper choked back a sob. These dreams—visions—weren’t even waiting for him to fall asleep anymore before taking over his mind.

And now to find out that Grunkle Stan hadn’t even drowned in the storm, as had been assumed, but rather, died of a heart attack while trying to seal Bill in a permanent vessel...

Dipper gulped. The vessel had been shattered. He’d seen it happen, felt it slip from his grasp, and inhaled the acrid plume of ash that wafted into the air as it crashed to the floor.

The vessel had been shattered, and somehow, Billy had become the vessel. That had to be it. But how? Where was Billy when this all went down?

With Billy in his thoughts, Dipper remembered why he’d come up to his bedroom. He rummaged through his things, and grabbed a clean t-shirt and pair of sweatpants at random, then headed back down the stairs.

He sniffled, and quickly wiped his face before Mabel, Wendy, or Pacifica saw him. He didn’t want to deal with their questions. Not right now. He needed to talk to Billy.

The three girls looked up at him as Dipper reached the bottom of the stairs. Mabel’s brow furrowed, and she opened her mouth to say something, but he shook his head.

“Don’t want to keep Billy waiting,” he mumbled in explanation, as he walked right past them, and down the hall. He stopped in front of the bathroom door, took a deep breath, and knocked.

 

/

 

“Yeah?” rasped Billy. He was sitting on the closed toilet lid, his head in his hands, trying to calm his ragged breathing.

On the other side of the door, Dipper called out,“Got you some clothes.”

Billy nodded, then realized Dipper couldn’t see him through the door. “Thanks,” he said quietly, as he opened the door a crack and stuck his hand through. He took the clothes from Dipper and shut the door again, quickly donning the borrowed garments.

Once clothed, he took a moment to stare at himself in the mirror. He still didn’t recognize the reflection staring back at him, but he was beginning to get used to it, at least.

Right now, his reflection looked terrified, and sad. The yellow-hazel eyes staring back at him were wide and panicked. His pale skin was ashen, and dark purple circles stood out under his eyes.

He had hoped that once he had gotten to the place in the photo, and seen Pine Tree and Shooting Star, the constant nightmares and visions would stop. However, he’d just had an intense vision from the point of view of Ford’s brother, whom he’d never met.

For the day or so before the boat capsized, his only memories prior to the accident, Ford had had an impenetrable air of sadness surrounding him, and now Billy understood why. He’d watched his brother die.

“But what does it all _mean_?” he asked his reflection. The reflection stared blandly back at him. If mirror Billy knew what the visions and nightmares were all about, he certainly wasn’t sharing his secrets.

Billy sighed and turned away from the mirror. He tried to fix his face into a more neutral expression, then opened the door.

Dipper was still standing on the other side. He studied Billy’s face silently, his eyes narrowed. After what felt like minutes, but was only seconds, he leaned back on the balls of his feet and crossed his arms.

“You saw it, too.” It wasn’t a question.

Billy’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“You saw my Grunkle Stan die. Or were him. In a vision, just now.”

“Wh—how could you possibly know that?” asked Billy, his heartbeat accelerating.

“Because I saw it, too,” said Dipper. “And you look the way I feel.”

“You—you saw it too?” asked Billy. “Have you seen other things?”

Dipper pursed his lips, seeming to consider his answer. Finally, he nodded. “Yes. I have. This is going to sound bizarre, but—I have been seeing your memories. From your point of view. And earlier this evening, I saw you go into Greasy’s Diner and talk to Susan. I’m pretty sure that wasn’t a memory, but real time.”

A chill raced down Billy’s spine. It had been dark when he’d come inside, but with the power back on, he noticed something about Dipper that had eluded him before. The cast. And the stitches.

“Not bizarre,” he finally choked out. “Same, actually.”

“What?” Dipper frowned.

“I—I’ve had dreams or...visions… from your point of view. I was with you when you broke down in the bathtub… and when you punched the wall. And—and when you sliced your arm open.” Billy rubbed his own arm unconsciously. “I didn’t know it was _you_ , because you never looked in a mirror when I was with you.”

Dipper blanched. “H—how?”

Billy shrugged. “I wish I knew,” he said quietly. “I was hoping that once I got ‘home,’ to Pine Tree and Shooting Star, I’d get some answers about everything.”

“Yo, Dip, what’s taking so—” Wendy rounded the corner, saw their faces, and stopped mid-sentence. “Uh, am I interrupting something?”

Dipper ran his hands through his hair, and cast a glance at Billy. “It’s fine, Wendy. Well, not fine. Really freaking weird is what it is… let’s all sit down in the living room. We need to figure things out.”

 

/

 

Dipper and Pacifica sat next to each other on the living room floor, holding hands. Dipper’s grip was probably too tight, but Pacifica didn’t complain. She kept glancing at his face, her features etched with concern.

Mabel and Wendy had dragged kitchen chairs into the living room, letting Billy sit by himself in the overstuffed chair.

Dipper explained to Billy that the girls already knew about his dreams, and asked Billy to share the dreams and visions _he’d_ had from Dipper’s point of view. Billy gave a detailed account of “being” Dipper during some of Dipper’s most emotionally-charged and grief-stricken moments, and after he finished, the room was dead silent (except for the occasional sniffle from Mabel, who had started crying at the intimate view of her brother’s distress).

Finally, Dipper broke the silence. “In addition to all that weirdness, while Billy was in the bathroom just now, and I was upstairs getting him clothes, we both had another vision. The same vision. In this vision,” he paused, swallowing hard, and staring down at his hands, “we were Grunkle Stan. As he had a heart attack. And died.”

Mabel let out a loud sob, and covered her face with her hands.

“So. What the ever-living- _fuck_ is going on?” Dipper concluded.

Wendy put her arms around Mabel, and the younger girl turned and cried into her shoulder. She shook her head at Dipper. “I don’t know, man, but that is most definitely not cool.”

“A—” Pacifica coughed to clear her throat, which was trying to constrict around her words. “A heart attack? So he didn’t drown when the boat capsized?”

Billy nodded solemnly. “I never got the chance to meet him. He was already gone when I was on the boat.”

Mabel looked up from Wendy’s shoulder, and rubbed her red, puffy eyes with the back of her hand. “When _did_ you get on the boat, Billy?” she asked. “Because if Grunkle Ford stopped at a port and you got on, I don’t understand why he wouldn’t have tried to call our family and let us know what happened.”

Dipper frowned thoughtfully. “That’s a very good point, sis. When did you get on the Stan O’ War, Billy? And at what port?”

“I don’t remember,” Billy said, with a sigh. “I remember waking up on the boat...Ford said I’d hit my head. I guess that’s why I can’t remember anything.”

“I don’t think you did hit your head, Billy. I think I have a theory… sort of.” Dipper bit his lip, and continued. “The vision we just had… do you know what Stan and Ford were trying to do? The spell?”

“Not really,” said Billy. “Something about a vessel to hold—or trap—something?”

“Right,” said Dipper. He glanced at the three girls knowingly. “But he started having a heart attack, and the boat was pitching in the storm, and he fell and lost his grip on the vessel. He dropped it. It shattered.”

Billy nodded. “But Ford didn’t realize it until he finished reading the spell. And he rushed over to try and help, but his brother slipped away.”

“And what do you remember about waking up?” Dipper asked.

Billy pursed his lips in thought. “It was early morning… the water was really choppy. I was—I was lying on the galley floor. Right… right where Stan fell...” His eyes widened, and he slowly shook his head. “N—no...”

“Oh, my God,” Pacifica murmured. She turned her head to stare at Dipper, as she squeezed his hand with white knuckles. “He—oh, my God.”

Mabel whimpered and held her fist against her mouth.

“Dude, what the fuck?” muttered Wendy, looking from Dipper, to Billy, and back to Dipper. “You’re saying… but he—I—what the _actual_ fuck?!”

“Billy, you became the vessel,” said Dipper. “I think—I think you used to be our Grunkle Stan. He got covered in the ashes from the spell, and then he died… leaving behind an empty vessel. His body.”

“But—but,” sputtered Billy. He looked down at his arms and hands, then back up at Dipper. “But I’m not old! He was old! I’m like, your age! How do you explain that? And—and vessel for _what_ exactly? I’m just me! Just Billy!” He was close to tears.

“Bipper.”

Everyone turned to look at Mabel, who had spoken. Her face was ashen, and she spoke in a monotone. “Dipper, you were the last person that Bill possessed before he got trapped in Grunkle Stan’s head. That’s the connection. It has to be.”

“Possessed?! What are you talking about?” Billy gripped the arms of his chair so hard that his fingernails turned white.

Dipper smiled sadly at Billy. “Bill Cipher. He was a dream demon from another dimension, who tried to destroy our world. Grunkle Stan tricked Cipher, and he got trapped inside Stan’s mind. Grunkle Stan saved the world. He was a hero.”

Billy stood abruptly from his seat, his breathing rapid and panicked, his hands balled into fists at his sides. “And you’re saying—you think I’m a de—No! No, you’re wrong!”

Wendy crossed her arms, and shrugged. “Sorry, dude, but you were never supposed to exist.”

Billy’s face fell as the force of her words hit him. He let out a strangled wail as he tore from the room, and out the front door of the Mystery Shack.

 

/

 

Billy didn’t know where he was going. He just ran. Pine trees whipped past him, and the smell of sap clung to the insides of his nostrils. A light rain had started back up, and his borrowed clothes were soon nearly as wet as the clothes they had replaced. Not that it mattered. He couldn’t go back there—the place he’d been looking forward to for so long—the place he’d thought was home.

“Sorry, dude, but you were never supposed to exist.” The redhead’s cruel, detached words kept repeating in his head.

Never supposed to exist.

Never supposed to exist.

Still running blindly, Billy stumbled over a tree root and fell forward onto his hands and knees. The pain of the harsh impact shot up his wrists and arms, and he collapsed all the way down into the slurry of mud and pine needles that made up the forest floor.

Never supposed to exist.

Billy sobbed against the cold, wet ground, his tears mixing with the mud coating his cheeks. Despite being told he was never supposed to exist, Pine Tree and Shooting Star still felt like home. But they thought he was some demon, magically trapped in the body of their great uncle, and somehow aged down. An abomination.

Never. Supposed. To. Exist.

If he didn’t have Pine Tree and Shooting Star, he didn’t have anyone. No home. No family. No memories. No reason. To exist.

Maybe if he lay out in the rain and mud long enough, the earth would swallow him up. He wished it would. The hope of finding his family had been the only thing driving him after he survived the boat capsizing.

Without his family, he didn’t _want_ to exist.

 

/

 

“Dip Dop, are you okay?” Mabel asked softly.

Dipper stared at the front door, hot tears spilling from his eyes. He let go of Pacifica’s hand and stood up, ignoring what Mabel had said, and instead, turned to Wendy.

“What the hell was that for?!” he cried. A sob escaped his throat, and he wiped angrily at the tears leaving trails down his cheeks.

Wendy looked aghast. “Dude, I was just saying it like it is. Why are _you_ crying?”

Overwhelming feelings of hopelessness and despair gnawed a hole through Dipper’s chest. Pacifica stood and tried to put an arm around him, but he flinched away.

“Sorry, Paz,” he said thickly, looking at the floor. “I just—it isn’t _me_ crying. I mean, I _am_ crying, but it’s him.”

“Huh?” the three girls chorused.

Dipper met Wendy’s eyes, tears still falling thick and fast from his own. “We’ve been seeing through each other’s eyes in our dreams—we’re connected somehow. Now that we’ve met in person, I guess the connection is stronger. Because I’m feeling what he’s feeling right now. And what you said, Wendy… that was uncalled for.”

“Dude, I’m sorry,” she said, shamefaced. “I guess I didn’t think—I… I just—I’m sorry.”

“He’s really this upset?” Pacifica asked softly, wiping a tear from Dipper’s cheek with her thumb.

Dipper sniffed. “Yes. He thought he was coming home. Now he thinks we don’t want anything to do with him, and he feels abandoned, and… guys, he has nothing. _Nothing_. The only thing that had been sustaining him was the hope of finding us. And now he thinks we want nothing to do with him.”

The room was quiet for a moment, the only noises an occasional soft sob from Dipper, and the patter of rain hitting the roof and windows.

Finally, Mabel broke the silence. “ _Do_ we want anything to do with him? I mean, part of him...sort of… is Grunkle Stan. So he kind of _is_ family.”

“Yeah, but part of him is _Bill_ ,” said Wendy. “You remember, the evil demon who wanted us all dead?”

“Huh,” Pacifica said softly. She took Dipper’s hand. “Dipper, you’re feeling what he’s feeling right now—does he _feel_ evil at all? Because from what I’ve seen and heard, he’s not. He doesn’t remember being Bill.”

Dipper shook his head. “I’d been so freaked out at the idea of Billy being ‘human Bill,’ but honestly, I think the idea of it was the only thing actually freaking me out. Because in none of my dreams or visions from his point of view have I felt any inclinations toward evil. Mostly,” he choked back a sob. “Mostly he’s just felt lost, and confused, and _incredibly_ alone.” He crossed the room and sank down into Grunkle Stan’s armchair, held his face in his hands, and sobbed. “I don’t like that he feels like this right now, and that we did this to him,” Dipper said his voice muffled by his hands.

Wendy ran her hands through her hair and blew out a deep breath. “Well, I feel like shit.”

Dipper was caught up in a fresh wave of sobs, but managed to wheeze out “You should!”

“What confuses me,” mused Mabel, “is—if he doesn’t remember being Bill _or_ Grunkle Stan, why did he think _we_ were home?”

“Picture… of us,” Dipper said between sobs. “Carried with him… must have been Stan’s.” He took in a shaky breath. “I can’t… do this… it’s just getting… worse!” He was wailing like a wounded animal now.

Pacifica bit her lip, and slid into the chair next to Dipper. She hesitantly put her arms around him. This time, instead of flinching away from her, he clung onto her as if for dear life, and sobbed loudly into her shoulder while she rocked him.

Mabel’s lower lip trembled. She hated seeing her brother like this, even if the feelings weren’t his own. How had a picture made Billy feel _this_ strongly about her and Dipper? Then, her eyebrows shot up. She turned on her heel, and made a beeline for the downstairs bathroom.

“Mabel, wait up!” said Wendy, trotting after her. “You made an ah-ha! face. What’s your ah-ha!?”

Mabel pushed the bathroom door open, and grabbed Billy’s rain-soaked pants from the side of the bathtub, where he had placed them to drip dry. She rummaged through his pockets, and pulled a damp photo from a back pocket with a triumphant grin.

“This picture—it’s all Billy had of us. But what if he didn’t just _happen_ to have it on him? What if it was on him for a reason?”

Wendy arched an eyebrow. “Huh?”

Mabel didn’t bother to elaborate. Photo in hand, she raced back to the living room, where her brother was still sobbing inconsolably.

“Dipper!” she called, to get his attention.

He looked up from Pacifica’s shoulder, his whole body shaking with sobs. He took a deep breath and tried to talk, but all that came out was another sob.

“Remember Grunkle Ford’s journal that first summer—how it seemed incomplete, until we saw it under a black light?” Mabel asked. She held the picture up, and turned it over to the blank white backing. “I have a theory. Do you still have that black light?”

Dipper’s eyebrows shot up, and, even though tears were still streaming down his face, he gave Mabel a shaky grin, and nodded.

 

/

 

“ _Billy—God, I do really have to do this? It’s so weird.” Wendy stared at someone over his shoulder, and sighed. “Fine.” She looked back into his eyes. “Billy,” she began again. “I shouldn’t have said what I did. I’m sorry. I really am. You’re obviously here for a reason.”_

_He turned and looked at Mabel, who held up the picture of a young Pine Tree and Shooting Star. “You left this behind. You need to come back for it. We have a lot to talk about.”_

_Now Pacifica stepped into his line of sight. “Billy,” she said, her cheeks pink, “We know you’re hurting. We’re sorry. Please come back to us.”_

_He got up and walked to the bathroom. Dipper stared at himself in the mirror. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot, and his voice shook. “Billy, I hope you’re, uh, getting our message. If not, I feel like a jackass. But everything you’ve been feeling since you ran off—I’ve felt it too. And it hurts. Badly. Not knowing who you are, or why you’re here. And then the way we reacted—calling you a demon. And what Wendy said. She shouldn’t have said that. I told her so._

“ _Anyway, what I mean to say, Billy, is: please come back. Come home to us.”_

Billy blinked rapidly and sat up, the mud holding onto him squelching in protest. He wiped his eyes, which further smeared mud and pine needles across his face.

He must have fallen asleep. It was no longer raining, although it was still night, and he was still soaked to the bone.

None of that mattered to him, however. Dipper had just stared into the mirror, “at him,” and said they wanted him to come home. Home.

An ember of hope once again burning in his chest, Billy pulled himself to his feet, and followed the footprints he’d left in the mud back to the Mystery Shack. Back to Pine Tree and Shooting Star. Back home.

 

/

 

Dipper was watching out the window, and opened the door for Billy before he even had a chance to knock. Dipper didn’t say anything at all. Instead the wrapped his arms around Billy, and gave him a bear hug that would have done Manly Dan Corduroy proud.

When he finally let go, Billy smiled at him uncertainly, his eyes wet. “Uh, sorry… I got you muddy.”

Dipper looked down at his now mud-stained garments and laughed. “No problem. Come inside. We have something to show you.”

Billy followed Dipper inside, shutting the door behind them. They made their way into the living room, where Mabel was sitting in the armchair.

“Where are the other two?” asked Billy, looking around.

“They’re upstairs,” answered Mabel. “We told them we needed a private, family moment.” She patted the spot next to her on the chair, and Billy sat down, hesitantly. Dipper perched himself on the arm of the chair next to Billy.

“Family...” Billy repeated quietly. “Not that I’m not happy, but why the change of heart?”

Mabel held the water damaged photo up. “Because of this.”

“The picture of you? Why?”

Dipper put a hand on Billy’s shoulder. “Ford gave you that photo, didn’t he?”

Billy glanced up at Dipper. “Well, not exactly… he _did_ give it to me, but he said it was mine, and I’d dropped it. He said I should be more careful with it—that family is precious.”

Mabel smiled. “He was right. But before he gave it back to you, he left us a message on it.”

Billy took the photo from her hands. “A message? I don’t see anything. I’ve stared at this picture countless times. There’s no message.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” said Mabel. “Grunkle Ford had an affinity for invisible ink.” She pulled out a black light flashlight and turned it on. “Dipper, cut the lights, please?”

Dipper got up and flipped the light switch, then sat back down on the arm of the chair. He took the photo from Billy and turned it over on its back. Mabel shined the black light on it, and words appeared. Billy gasped, and leaned forward, squinting to read the tiny scrawl.

_Dipper,_

_If you’re reading this, I’m dead. I’m so sorry. The experiment to get Bill out of Stanley’s mind didn’t go as planned. Stanley died. I don’t think it was the experiment—just bad luck. It seemed like a heart attack. However, the vessel he was holding shattered as he fell, and I finished reading the spell before I realized what had happened._

_Stanley died. But then something strange occurred. His features morphed. He_ de- _aged. He now appears to be a young, blond male. I immediately realized what happened. With the vessel shattered, Stanley’s dead body_ became _the vessel. The age thing? It may be due to Bill’s last human possession being_ you _. Your “blueprints” were the first available._

 _When he woke up, Bill was disoriented. It seems he doesn’t remember_ anything _. And it appears as though he has a_ soul _. I’m not sure if perhaps he repurposed Stanley’s soul, but Dipper—he isn’t evil. I’d go as far as to say he’s_ innocent _._

_So I am going to give him this photo and tell him that you are his family. I hope to be the one explaining all this to you, but if you’re reading this, well…_

_Dipper, you and Mabel take care of him. He is a pure soul. He didn’t ask for any of this. He isn’t Stanley, but he isn’t really Bill anymore, either. Please treat him like family._

_Love,_

_Grunkle Ford_

Billy finally looked up from the letter, blinking back tears. “So I’m not real, then? I really _am_ just a demon trapped in a dead man’s body?”

Mabel shook her head vehemently, and took his hand. “No. You’re a new, beautiful person. Demons don’t have souls. You do. You’re Billy—you’re family.”

“But I’m the reason your Grunkle Stan is dead!” Billy cried, pulling his hand back. “If they hadn’t been trying to trap this ‘Bill’ demon in a vessel, I wouldn’t exist!”

“Hey,” said Dipper, sliding off the arm of the chair so he could kneel in front of Billy. “That’s not true. Grunkle Stan had a heart attack. You know it as well as I do. We both had the vision. Even if they hadn’t been trying the spell, he’d still have died. But they _were_ trying the spell, and you _do_ exist. I’m not sure what happened, or _how_ it happened, but you’re here, with us. You traveled up the entire West coast to find us. Ford wanted us to be good to you. Your instincts were right. You’re family, and you belong here.”

Billy’s chin quivered as he looked from Mabel to Dipper. “You’re sure? I won’t just be a constant reminder of your dead Grunkles?”

Dipper laughed. “You might, but who says that’s a bad thing? Our Grunkles were amazing men. I bet you’ll be amazing, too.”

The corners of Billy’s lips twitched upward. “So...I really am home?”

Dipper and Mabel nodded to each other, before enveloping Billy in a double hug.

“Yes,” said Dipper softly.

“Definitely,” said Mabel, with a grin.

Dipper laughed. “Absolutely.”

 

/

 

**Epilogue**

Dipper stood arm-in-arm with Pacifica on the porch of the Mystery Shack, and waved as Mabel’s car disappeared down the drive.

He sighed, and Pacifica glanced up at her boyfriend, concerned. “You’re not having second thoughts about staying here instead of going off to college, are you?” she asked.

“What? No!” Dipper laughed. He spun Pacifica around, then dipped her low, and kissed her. While she still hung suspended in his arms, he grinned at her. “I have everything I could ever want right here. A hot, exceptionally bendy yoga-teacher girlfriend, a not-completely-failing tourist trap, and a brother-grunkle-demon-friend who works in said tourist trap, lives in my attic and plays video games with me!”

Pacifica giggled. “Well, when you put it _that_ way...”

“Oi!” shouted Billy, sticking his head out the door of the Mystery Shack. “You love-birds gonna ogle each other all day, or come in and help me whip this gift shop back into shape?”

Pacifica glanced at her cell phone, and winked at Dipper. “Oh, look at the time! I have a class to teach in a half-hour!”

Dipper rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry, princess. No manual labor for you today.”

Pacifica bit her lip and gave Dipper a sultry stare from under her lashes. “Well, maybe a little manual labor tonight… at my place? I’ll show you just how bendy I can be.”

Dipper inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. "You better go before I try and see how bendy you are _right now_.”

Pacifica giggled and stuck her tongue out at Dipper, then kissed him quickly on the cheek. “Love you, Pines,” she whispered.

Dipper grinned. “I never get tired of hearing that. Love you too, Northwest.”

Pacifica waggled her fingers at him, then trotted to her car.

Dipper smiled contentedly as he turned and made his way back into the Mystery Shack. At the start of summer he’d felt like it was the end of everything. Now he was sure it was only the beginning.

 


End file.
